


Glitter in the Air

by parapraxis



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parapraxis/pseuds/parapraxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s a war, Haymitch…Some sacrifices are necessary.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song “Glitter in the Air” by Pink. Takes place during Mockingjay. Haymitch’s P.O.V. Please excuse any typos.

“Send it in.” Plutarch’s cryptic order draws my attention away from the coverage of the front lines being filtered into the command room. 

“Send what in? In where?” I can feel the tension knotting in my stomach.

Plutarch doesn’t answer, but I can tell by the look on his face whatever he’s just ‘sent in’ is something big…something to finally shift the victory to the rebels. His eyes stare past me towards the screen and I slowly turn, my eyes scanning the crowded city circle in front of Snow’s mansion. The camera crews are filming from above, so it’s hard to discern much detail, but it’s impossible to miss the children corralled in front of the mansion, huddling together in fear.

Then I see them. Silver parachutes. Dozens of them. For a moment, I’m just as dumbstruck as the rest of the crowd, wondering what the canisters contain, but a sick realization comes over me just before the first canister explodes in the hands of a small child. 

Distant screams of terror fill the room, followed by more explosions and I can’t tear my eyes away from the screen as I stare on in horror. People are running in every which direction—trying to flee, trying to aid the children, panic taking over completely in others. And then the soldiers are rushing the mansion.

Plutarch has come to stand beside me and it takes every ounce of my strength to hold myself together and not rip him to shreds. “What have you done?”

“Won the war.” 

I hope to hear some kind of self-loathing in the sound of his voice, some hint of remorse, some sign that this was the only way to win. The last resort… Instead, I just hear the quiet awe of victory. I reach up, ready to rip my earpiece out of my ear when a voice breaks through.

“The Mockingjay is down! I need immediate evac!”

Katniss. 

I don’t wait for Plutarch to respond; I move to the controls and authorize the nearest transport to pick them up and to have medics at the ready. “What about the boy? Where’s the boy?”

“We’ve got him too. Both badly burned, but alive.”

“Get them out of there.”

“There was a fatality,” the soldier’s voice informs me. “The other Everdeen girl.”

“Shit.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off the many other explicatives that are threatening to pour from my mouth.

While the girl certainly didn’t mean much to me, I knew she was everything to Katniss, and now, after all she had done to protect her sister, none of it mattered. My eyes lift to Plutarch, who still stares at the screen as if he’s mesmerized.

“You sent the girl in there, didn’t you?” My voice shakes with barely concealed rage as I grip the back of chair to steady myself. Plutarch finally turns to look at me, a nonchalant smile pulling at his thin lips. “You sent her knowing what you were going to do.”

“It’s a war, Haymitch.” He shrugs. “Some sacrifices are necessary.”  
Every fiber of my being is straining to keep myself from launching across the table at him. I can feel myself shaking, and—finally—a look of fear ghosts across Plutarch’s face.

“Come on, old friend…we’ve won. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“We are _not_ friends.” Is the only response I can give as I pluck the earpiece from my ear and throw it down on the table. I have to find out where they’re taking Katniss and Peeta…and I have to tell Aven about Prim. She should hear of her daughter’s death from a friend, and right now I’m the closest thing there is.

I find Aven in the emergency aid station, helping to treat the burn victims that are still coming in from the explosions in the city circle. Though she’s focused on her work, I can see the worry evident in her eyes as she scans the faces of the room every few minutes. When our eyes meet across the crowded room, she nearly topples several people to cross the distance.

“Haymitch…” Her voice is shaking, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Please, no one will tell me what’s happening. The fire…they said the children are dead? Prim was with the children…”

She seems on the verge of hysterics so I lightly grip her shoulders, mostly so she doesn’t collapse and hurt herself when I break the news, but when I open my mouth I can’t find the words. “Aven, I’m so sorry.”

“What?” Her voice is tight as she looks at me, trying to comprehend what I’m saying. She shakes her head almost violently. “No… Haymtich tell me she’s not… _please_ , tell me she’s not dead.”

She’s gripping the front of my shirt desperately and I fold my arms around her, hugging her tightly. “I’m sorry.”

Aven wails as her worst fears are confirmed. As I anticipated, her entire body goes slack in my arms as she breaks down into uncontrollable sobs. As I half carry-half drag her to an open cot, I find myself angry that she hasn’t once asked about Katniss. Though there is no one else to console the grieving woman, I don’t stay with her once I have her settled on the bunk. There’s still too much to do…

It takes an hour before I finally find someone who knows where Katniss and Peeta were taken, and another hour just to get through the scared, confused and panicked mobs of people clogging the streets. No one knows what’s going on or where to go and the further away from the city circle I get, the more chaotic it gets. Our soldiers are still sweeping the Capitol streets, making sure that all Peacekeepers are surrendering, but I know it’ll be hours—possibly days—before any sort of order is restored.

Katniss is still undergoing treatment by the time I finally get to the medical center, but Peeta’s burns are less severe and he’s being treated mostly with burn cream. He’s bandaged and lying in a hospital bed, attached to fluids as I enter the room. I can see the tortured look on his face, the worry and dread of someone who doesn’t know what’s happened and isn’t getting any answers. A glimmer of hope flashes across his eyes as he sees me.

“Haymitch—“

I raise my hand to stop the onslaught of questions I know he wants to ask. “Before you start—let me tell you what I know. We took the city center by force, Snow’s been captured, Katniss’ sister was killed, and you and Katniss were both severely injured in the process. It’s still a madhouse out there, but I left command after the explosions happened and got word that you and Katniss were injured. Beyond that, I don’t know if there have been any new developments.”

Peeta takes this in for a minute. “So Katniss will be okay?”

“They haven’t said much on her condition—she’s worse off than you—but they’ll do what they can for her.”

“Does she know about Prim?”

I sigh wearily as I look at Peeta. “That I don’t know.”

We’re both quiet for a long moment before.

“How are you doing?” I ask, knowing this has been a lot for Peeta to deal with. I had been strongly opposed to his being sent in on Katniss’ team, not sure why Coin and Plutarch would risk the mission and her safety, but—as shown by the deadly parachutes earlier this evening—there seemed to be a lot of strategy I wasn’t privy to.

“I don’t know.” Peeta answers honestly. “Sometimes it’s still hard to tell what’s real and what’s not. If I wasn’t burned, I would have thought I’d hallucinated what happened. I kind of wish I would have.”

I lay a hand on his shoulder, recognizing the grief and guilt evident in his tone. “There was nothing you could have done to save them, Peeta.”

“What happens now?”

“First, they’ll try to restore some order to the Capitol and the Districts. Probably call a ceasefire to any fighting that might still be going on. Then, Coin will probably announce herself as the new president and call for a trial for Snow and anyone else involved in the war effort. If Coin holds to her end of the deal, you and the rest of the tributes who were taken prisoner will be granted immunity and not tried…though I can’t guarantee they won’t want you to testify against the Capitol before they let Katniss stick an arrow in him.”  
He nods in understanding, a daunted look on his tired face, and I know there’s not much more he can handle at this moment.

“Get some rest. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

“Thanks.” Peeta says with some relief.

I pull the door closed behind me as I step out in the hall, taking a moment to soak everything in myself. So much planning and effort and sacrifice had gone into getting us to this moment of freedom…shouldn’t I feel glad—like Plutarch had said—that we won? If anyone knew about the bitter sweetness of victory, it was certainly me.

It’s too soon to know who we else we’ve lost, but I already know the count will be too great. With Katniss still receiving treatment and Peeta resting, I have nothing else to do to pass the time, so I find a phone and call the command center for an update.

“We’ve gotten the location of where they’re keeping several prisoners and hostages. Word is that Hawthorne was taken there…and possibly Effie Trinket.” Plutarch informs me. I release of heavy sigh of relief at the mention of Effie, thankful to whatever Gods might actually still be listening to me that she’s survived. “We have gotten our first reports of the dead.” Plutarch adds, with hesitancy. 

“Who?” I brace myself, not wanting to know who didn’t make it…but needing to know. I listen to the long list of names—mostly people from District 13 that I didn’t know, a lot of names from Katniss’ platoon, and then…

“Finnick Odair.”

I feel my mouth go dry as my vision blurs with tears. “Has anyone told Annie?”

“Not yet.” Plutarch admits. “We were hoping…since you and Finnick were friends…”

“That I would tell her.” I finish for him, angry at the audacity, but not surprised. “Of course you did.”

A curt silence follows before Plutarch speaks in a clipped voice, “Will you?”

“Fine. But for now I’m staying here.”

“Fine. We’ll be transporting the surviving tributes to the capitol in a few days. You can tell her then.”

I hang up, not interested in anything else Plutarch has to say and see the medics roll a gurney out of the room they’d been treating Katniss in. I run to catch up as they wheel her down to an empty room. Katniss is unconscious, bandages covering every inch of exposed skin, and I can see the unevenness of her hair where it’s been burned off in patches.

“It’s going to take a while for the new skin to graft, but she will live.” One of the medics informs me as they hook her up to tubes and machines. I pull up a chair next to the bed as the medics leave us alone, and drop my head in my hands as I sit and wait for her to wake up.

For hours I hear nothing but the beep of the machines and the sound of her breathing, but then a voice nearly startles me out of my chair.

“Thought I’d find you here.” 

I turn to see Gale Hawthorne leaning against the door frame casually. He looks like he’s had a chance to get cleaned up and probably fed after being rescued. I stand and extend my hand to him and he accepts the handshake before looking past me at Katniss.

“She okay?”

“She will be. She’s pretty heavily sedated right now, so she’s still out.”

“Probably for the best.” Gale says with a pained look.

“You know about her sister, then?”

He nods, then rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Listen, do you mind if I take over? I’d like to be here when she wakes up.”

“Of course. You’ll probably be a more welcome sight anyways.”

“I doubt that.”

I don’t ask for him to clarify as I turn to leave.

“The new command is in the mansion.” He tells me, then bitterly adds. “They didn’t waste any time moving right in.”

“I didn’t figure they would.” My tone just as bitter.

An odd quiet has settled over the Capitol as I walk the stretch back towards the city center. The large screens that usually air advertisements, presidential reports, and the hunger games are repeating a new message from Coin declaring the end of the war and the victory for the people of Panem. She’s instructed people to return to their homes—or, if their homes have been destroyed and they have no immediate shelter—to go to assigned areas based on their place of residence. I have to admit that I’m impressed how quickly they’ve managed to subdue the crowds and even clear the streets.

It doesn’t take me half as long to get back to the city circle and past the armed guards keeping watch. I’m immediately ushered up to the second floor, where the command center has been set up. Naturally, Plutarch and Coin are in attendance, debating how to proceed, but I see Paylor, Beetee, and several other familiar faces as well.

“Ah. Haymitch.” Plutarch looks almost disappointed to see me, and I have no desire to be involved in any more of their strategies.

“Did you find Effie?”

Plutarch looks to Coin with hesitancy and the District 13 president lifts her chin. “We’ve given her a room on the east wing, near the room we’ve assigned to you.” Coin tells me by way of explanation. “I’ll have someone escort you there, if you like.”

“Please.” I say through gritted teeth, trying not to voice my discontent at yet another assigned living space. 

Coin motions to a guard standing near the door and I follow him up to the 3rd floor and down a long corridor before we stop in front of a door.

“This is Miss Trinket’s room.” He tells me before pointing at a door behind me. “That will be your room. I will advise you not to wander out of your assigned area. Some of the mansion has been secured as restricted access only.”

“And I don’t have clearance.” Again, it’s not a question.

“No.” Confirmation that my purpose has been served. I delivered their Mockingjay, and they washed their hands of me. I nod my acceptance of this and the guard turns to leave. I wait until he’s out of earshot before I take a deep breath and gently knock on Effie’s door.

I feel the seconds ticking by, straining to hear any sound behind the heavy wooden door, before it finally opens just a crack. The room is pitch black inside, and for a moment I worry that I’ve woken her up, but then she flings the door wide open and throws herself into my arms. An erroneous thought flits through my mind that crying women have been throwing themselves at me all day, but I dismiss it quickly and crush Effie against me.

“Haymitch…” She sobs against my chest.

As I bury my nose in her damp hair, I’m struck by the realization that she’s not wearing one of her hideous wigs, and breathe in the scent of floral shampoo. “I was so worried.” I admit, suddenly unable to speak above a whisper.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” She sniffles. I gently guide her back into the room, reaching for a light switch before she grabs my arm. “No! Please…leave it off.”

“Why?”

“I can’t…I don’t want…” She’s struggling to speak, and I pull out of her grasp and flip on the light. Effie winces and turns her face away from me in shame. “I’m hideous.”

Even with her face slightly turned away from me, I can see the bruise along her pale cheek. I have never seen Effie without makeup or her wigs or her brightly colored Capitol couture, but even when she looks like a complete clown, I never thought her hideous. I gently tip her chin up, bringing her face back around until she meets my eyes. Her strikingly blue eyes are wet and rimmed with red, puffy from crying. Her skin is pale but flawless besides the bruise and a small laceration that bisects the corner of her lips. Her natural hair falls just to the tops of her shoulders and appears to be a soft strawberry blonde. 

She’s quite possibly one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, and I can’t fathom why she would ever hide under all that crap to begin with.

“Sweetheart, you’re far from hideous.”

Effie looks at me expectantly, waiting for the sarcasm she knows should follow, and blushes when it doesn’t come. “Don’t tease me, Haymitch,” she chides, still skeptical though a single tear slips down her cheek, attesting to the fact that she’s touched by my sincerity. “I’m not in the mood.” 

For a moment, we stand there staring at each other, my forefinger still tucked beneath her chin. There’s too much to say but neither of us knows where to begin. I decide to start with an all-encompassing, “I’m so sorry, Effie.”

Her eyes shimmer with a fresh round of tears before she finally turns away from me and takes several steps into the room. “Did you know?”

“That you would be arrested?” 

She nods tightly.

“I had hoped not, but I knew it was highly probable.”

She whirls back around, anger and betrayal evident in her expression. Before I can even blink, she raises her hand and slaps me. “Why didn’t you warn me, Haymitch?”

“Believe me, sweetheart, I _tried_.” I snap back, annoyed, rubbing my stinging cheek. “It’s not like I could just come right out and say it, now could I? There were bugs and spies everywhere. Snow’s a paranoid man, and he watches his victors _very_ closely. Especially those of us who have already defied him.”

“Why didn’t you take me with you?” Her voice trembles now and fat tears fall from her eyes. 

I feel defeated by the simple question, faced with yet another one of my failures in this whole debacle. “Because they took you before I had the chance.”

Her lip quivers before she turns away again. “It was horrifying, Haymitch. The most terrifying, humiliating experience of my entire life. I was sure they were going to kill me. When they arrested me, they wouldn’t even tell me what crime I was being accused of. They just threw me into a cell and locked me away for days and days. Finally, someone did come around, believing me to be part of the rebellion and insisting I must know something because of my association with you and Katniss. Whenever I told them I knew nothing, they would try to strike the information out of me.”

I swallow the sudden anger I feel towards Effie’s aggressors, knowing there’s nothing I can do about it now, and hang my head in grief at her suffering. “I’m sorry.”

“They told me Katniss was dead.” I can hear the unspoken question in the wavering murmur.

“She’s not. Katniss and Peeta are both alive—in a manner of speaking.”

She turns again, and I flinch reflexively, expecting to be slapped again, but find her looking at my quizzically. “What do you mean? ‘ A manner of speaking?’”

I realize this is going to be a very long conversation, so I gesture to the only sitting space in the room—the bed. “You might as well get comfortable.”

Effie doesn’t argue and moves to sit primly on the edge of the bed, folding her hands in her lap as she looks at me, waiting for me to speak. I decide the best place to start is at the beginning, when I joined the rebellion the day Katniss laid Rue to rest in a bed of flowers and saluted District 11. I knew then—as did many others—that this insanity had to stop. That was the day Katniss became the Mockingjay to me. It was the first time I had the courage to fight the Capitol since I watched them kill my family and my love.

As I pace the room, telling the story from start to finish as I know it, Effie listens without interruption. I get lost in my own storytelling at times, almost forgetting her presence as I talk through it all, and am only reminded I’m not alone when I hear her sniffle and catch her wiping tears away out of the corner of my eye. By the time I get to the end where I’d been led to Effie’s room, and how I had realized that I had outlived my usefulness to Coin and Plutarch, I’m sitting on the floor in front of the bed, looking up at her as I drape my arms over my knees.

She’s quiet for a moment as she regards me, taking in everything I’ve told her. “I never dreamed that something like this could…” She shakes her head, unable to voice the thought. “You’re a better man than I’ve ever given you credit for, Haymitch Abernathy.”

“I’m not.” I dismiss the compliment as I pull myself to my feet and move towards the window to look out. A light snow is still falling, blanketing the ground with a thin cover and hiding the atrocities that happened here tonight. “A lot of people died that didn’t need to. Some of that I had a hand in, some of it I didn’t. Either way, I watched others fight while I stayed safe at the command center. I’m exactly the kind of man you’ve always considered me to be.”

“You’re a strategist, Haymitch. Fighting has never been your strength. Perhaps the losses would have been greater without you at Command.”

I snort in response, not wanting to think about how many more could have died and not believing that I had anything to do with the ones who survived.

She swallows thickly, staring down at her hands. “Do they have names of civilian casualties…from the Capitol?”

“I don’t know.” I answer honestly. “Why?”

She tries to smile but fails. “My mother and father…and my sister. They won’t allow me to try and contact them. I just want to know that they’re alright.”

I don’t know if the Capitol would bother going after someone as remotely removed from an acquaintanceship with Katniss and Peeta as Effie’s family, but somehow it wouldn’t surprise me. “I guess there’s only one way to find out. Put your shoes on.”

“What?” Effie looks at me with surprise.

“Put your shoes on.” I repeat a little slower and slightly louder.

Effie gives me an annoyed look, but gets to her feet and finds a pair of gold heels. I bite back a laugh as I watch her slip them on. “Nice outfit, sweetheart. Those heels really make that grey jumpsuit just pop.”

“Shut up, Haymitch.” She snips, tartly, smoothing the front of the jumpsuit. “When I was arrested, I didn’t exactly get the luxury of packing a bag. When I was rescued, they gave me this to wear, but not any other shoes.”

I belated realize that Effie had probably been wearing the same thing during her imprisonment, and rather than try and have it cleaned, whoever had brought her the jumpsuit had decided to just toss Effie’s Capitol Couture. Not that I would blame them…under any circumstance.

She eyes my own standard issue District 13 jumpsuit and opens her mouth to speak.

I thrust my finger at her, cutting her off. “Say one word and you’re on your own.”

Effie gives me a coy smile in return, but says nothing.

As I peek out into the hallway, finding an absence of guards, I can feel Effie at my elbow, her breathing slightly elevated. “I feel like a couple of renegades. Is this what it was like being in the rebellion?”

I look back at her in amusement. “We’re not doing espionage, sweetheart; we’re sneaking out.”

She slaps my arm, but gives me a challenging look. “Well, if we’re not up to something, why are we sneaking?”

Though I have no proof, I can feel in my gut that I shouldn’t trust Coin and Plutarch. Not now. Not after their big finish to turn the war in their favor. Not after the way they’ve used us all to position themselves to become the new leaders of the free world. Rather than spend several more minutes trying to explain this to Effie, I simply nod my head. “Good point. Now shut up and follow me.”

Weaving our way down the corridor, we encounter only a few guards, who watch us warily as we pass by. Effie and I pretend to be deeply engrossed in conversation about the artwork adorning the walls in the mansion, and to my relief no one butts in to ask us where we’re going. 

We’re able to slip down the stairs to the main floor, but when we get to the front door, our luck runs out.

“I’m sorry; President Coin has instructed that no one is permitted to leave the mansion.”

I open my mouth to try and smooth-talk the guard, but Effie beats me to it. “I beg your pardon? Do you have any idea who we are?”

“Uh—“

“Haymitch, run and find the President this instance and inform her that this young man is obstructing us from carrying out her request.”

“Request?” The guard looks like he’s going to start sweating bullets now.

“Oh! Honestly! I’ll go get her myself! Worthless, incompetent—“ Effie starts marching away with her head held high and her back straight.

“Wait!” The guard calls out. “Of course, if the President has given you special permission…”

Effie turns and gives him a winning smile. “You’re doing a fine job, Solider. I feel quite safe with you guarding the door. Now, you’ll be sure not to let anyone else out, hmm?”

“No ma’am.”

The guard opens the door and we slip out, hurrying down the front steps. I fight the urge to look back over my shoulder, and as soon as we’ve passed the guards out front, I laugh. “That was brilliant, sweetheart! How did you know it would work?”

“I didn’t.” She giggles. “But I’ve learned to bluff from the best.”

She’s giving me a sidelong look and there’s no mistaking who she means. I give her a rueful smile and nudge her with my shoulder. “Come on, honey. It’ll be daylight soon. If we have any chance of getting through the city without being questioned it’ll be in the dark.”

Effie takes hold of my arm as we walk, shivering against the cold and trying to move in close to me for warmth. She guides me through the city streets until we come to one of the blocks that has been hit the hardest in the attacks on the city. Effie stops dead in her tracks, gripping my arm tightly as she surveys the snow-covered damage.

“That’s their apartment.” She points to a second-floor window, her voice barely a whisper.

I can feel my stomach churn at the thought of what we might find in any of the apartments on this block. The buildings are blackened with scorch marks, several windows have been broken out, and even one wall of an adjacent building has started to crumble. The street is littered with debris from some kind of explosion, and there is no doubting that there were probably multiple fatalities here, though any bodies have since been collected.

“We should go find out where people on this block have gone for shelter.”

“No, I’m going up.”

“Effie, there’s not going to be anyone there.”

“I’m going up, Haymitch.” She declares hotly, turning to look at me with tears in her eyes. “You can either come with me, or you can go back to the mansion, but one way or another I have to go in there.”

“I’m not leaving you alone out here.”

“Then don’t argue with me.” She wipes away the wetness on her cheeks angrily and turns back towards the building, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out as she strides towards the door on shaky legs. I follow Effie silently, offering my hand only when she needs it to help steady herself as we pick our way through the debris. The door sticks as she tries to open it, so I gently guide her out of the way and shoulder it open.

The stairwell to the second floor is dark and the air is stale and ashy, but cold. I suddenly feel like I’m in a mine shaft and shiver as a chill runs down my spine. Where I come from, mine shafts are equivocated with tombs. 

Effie manages to get up to the second landing and over to the door of her parent’s apartment before I’m even halfway up the stairs, and starts knocking—unnecessarily.

“Mother?” She calls, shakily. “Father?”

Hesitantly, Effie clutches the door knob. It turns easily in her hand and she carefully pushes the door open. I finally reach the landing and move to stand beside her as we peer through the darkness. The emptiness of the entire building has me completely on edge and I can feel the hairs on the back of neck stand up.

There’s an angry yowl before a cat shoots out of the apartment between us, nearly giving me a heart attack. “FUCK!” I yell out, nearly pissing myself and slam my open palm on the door frame to expel the nervous energy. “You could have warned me they have a cat!”

“It didn’t exactly cross my mind when I was thinking about finding my family.” Effie snaps back, then peers through the darkness to try and see where the cat has gone to. “Do you think she’ll be alright? I don’t want her to wander too far out there by herself.”

“Forget the damn cat, sweetheart. Can we just get out of here?”

“Not yet.” Effie takes several tentative steps into the apartment. Now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, I can see that the apartment looks fairly well maintained, though it appears as though someone left in a hurry, judging by the trail of clothes and other items leading down a narrow hallway. Effie bends down and picks up one of the discarded items, hugging it to her chest. “My mother loves this scarf. She must have dropped it when they were trying to get everything together.”

“If they had time to throw a suitcase together, that’s a good sign, Effie.”

“But they left the cat.” She sniffles.

“They probably didn’t anticipate being gone for too long.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She uses the scarf to wipe her eyes, then wraps it around her neck as she picks through the other items of clothes on the floor.

“What are you doing, honey? We’re wasting time.”

“I’m looking for a coat, Haymitch; I’m freezing.”

I sigh in annoyance, but let her look until she’s found something suitable.

“Here.” She thrusts something into my hands and I hold up a formal dinner jacket, eyeing it curiously before I look at her in question. “It’s not exactly suited for the weather, but at least it’s another layer over that horrible jumpsuit.”

“Thanks.” I shrug into the jacket, which seems two sizes too big for me in the shoulders, and several sizes too short. I hear her stifle a giggle as she reaches forward to button the front of the jacket.

“My father is much shorter than you are…and quite a bit rounder.”

The affection in her voice actually brings a smile to my face and when she looks up at me, neither of us can seem to look away. I touch her cheek gently, mindful of the bruise as I swear to her, “We will find them.”

When we return to the street, a small platoon of guards is sweeping down the block. I make Effie wait inside the door of the building, not wanting her to be in harm’s way in case the guards decide we’re in an unauthorized area and remove us by force before they ask nicely. I know we need to find out where her parents might have taken refuge, so I wait until they are close enough to see that I’m no threat before I step out with my arms up.

I hear the click of several guns as they are aimed at me. The platoon leader calls out, “Identify yourself.”

“Haymitch Abernathy.” I call back, hoping that at least my name will be recognizable, even if my face is not.

“What business do you have here?”

“I’m trying to locate a family that lived on this block. Where would they have gone for shelter?”

“The closest evac center is about 4 blocks back. Do you need an escort there?”

“No, we—I’ll find it. Thanks.”

The guns shift away from me as the platoon moves on and I feel myself sigh in relief before I motion to Effie. Already the day is growing lighter as the dawn comes and we move as quickly as possible through the streets. Apartments begin to thin out and businesses and shops take their place. Finally, we come to a building that is several stories high and takes up nearly the entire block. Even if it weren’t for the sign out front declaring this to be an Evacuation Center, I would have bet anything that it was. 

Despite the early hour, the din inside the lobby is quiet loud. People are packed into the area like sardines, some people trying to sleep on makeshift pallets of clothes and blankets, while others are still huddled together and weeping and wondering what will happen to them. Effie’s leaning on me for support as she stands on her tiptoes, trying to see all the faces in the room.

“Names?” A female voice asks on my other side. She’s holding a clipboard in her hand, a pen poised to take down our names.

“We’re looking for someone,” I tell her. “Do you have the names of all the families taking shelter here?”

“Yes.”

“Trinket.” Effie tells her urgently before I can say another word. “Doss, Kestia, and Deora Trinket.”

The woman looks over her list, flipping through page after page until she reaches the end. “I’m sorry, there’s no one on our list by that name. They could have gone to another shelter.”

“Is there any way to find out?”

“Not at this time, I’m afraid. So many families have been separated, but it’s tying up the communications systems to let families try to call around and locate their loved ones. Once things settle down, they will begin to try and reconnect families. What are your names, I will put you on my list.”

“We’re not staying.” I tell the woman, taking Effie’s shoulders and turning her back towards the door. She’s visibly subdued by the news that her family isn’t here, but I know if we don’t get moving, we’ll be stuck here with no connections to command, to Katniss and Peeta, or to her family for the near future.

The woman starts to argue, but I act like I don’t hear her as I push Effie back out on the sidewalk. “Where’s your apartment?”

“What?” She blinks as if coming out of a trance. “Oh…that way.” She gestures vaguely.

“How far?” I ask, grinding my teeth together in annoyance. I can feel the lack of sleep finally catching up with me. I’m tired and cranky and cold, and need Effie’s help to guide me around the blasted city before we’re found out and brought back to the mansion with no hope of finding her parents.

“I guess about six blocks? I don’t live very far from the Training Center.”

“Good, we’re going there. Lead the way.”

“But my parents—“

“Listen sweetheart…” I take Effie’s shoulder and lean down until we’re eye to eye. “I promised you we’d find them, and we will, but Coin and Plutarch are going to figure out we’re gone soon—if they haven’t already. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be put under lock and key while they scheme up the new nation. We’ll go to your apartment and get some rest, I’ll make some calls to see if I can get any leads, and then we’ll go back out after dark to continue searching, okay?”

Effie sighs but nods and turns us in the direction of her apartment. 

By the time the sun has started to rise, we’re safely ensconced inside her posh high rise apartment that has been utterly untouched since she was last here. She looks as exhausted as I feel, but I know that neither of us will get much rest if I don’t start making calls.

I start out with the hospital and get transferred to Katniss’ room first. Gale is the one who answers on the 3rd ring.

“She still out?”

“They sedated her again.” Gale tells me. “She woke up, screaming for Prim, and asked me if the parachutes were my idea.”

“Were they?”

“I don’t know.” Gale says guiltily. “I guess they were, but I didn’t think they’d be used like that.”

“It’s not your fault.” 

“Yeah…right…”

I tell Gale about our great escape from the mansion and our search for Effie’s parents, giving him the phone number to her flat and telling him to have Katniss call me when she’s awake. Gale wishes us luck, then hangs up. 

“Now what?” Effie asks, biting her nails anxiously.

“Turn on the TV, there’s bound to be some kind of emergency broadcast still playing.

The broadcast I had seen earlier has been updated, now listing the sites of all the evac centers in the Capitol. Effie grabs a piece of paper and pen from her kitchen and I quickly jot the names and addresses of the centers so that we can look up the phone numbers later. A telephone number has been given for family members who fear their loved ones are deceased, and I write it down, just in case. She eyes the number on the list with growing despair.

“Is there any point in calling the other shelters if they could be…” I hear the unspoken ‘dead’ as she’s unable to speak it aloud. 

While I don’t want to give Effie false hope by starting at the top of the list and working out way down, I also don’t want to steal whatever hope she has left. “Do you want to call, or do you want me to?”

“I can’t.” She whispers shakily, her eyes full of tears again.

I nod and pick up the phone, dialing the number with a less than steady hand.

“Names of presumed deceased?” A nasally sounding woman asks by way of greeting.

“Doss, Kestia, and Deora Trinket.” I tell her, reaching over to grasp Effie’s hand. 

“One moment.”

I can feel my heart thudding in my chest as I wait to hear the fate of these people I’ve never met but have suddenly become very important to me. Effie is shaking next to me, tears at the ready in her eyes. The seconds tick by agonizingly slow and I realize I’m holding my breath as the woman comes back on the line.

“Confirmed dead: Doss Trinket, Kestia Trinket, Deora Trinket. Anyone else, sir?”

The words wash over me like a numbing agent and I feel the phone fall from my hand as I sit in shock.

“No…” I hear Effie’s weak protest to the news she can only assume to be true. “No!! No!! NO!!”  
Effie shrieks at the top of her lungs, throwing herself back on the couch as she howls the most heart-wrenching cries I’ve ever heard. She’s pounding her fists weakly against anything she can—the couch, the coffee table, herself—and I grab her wrists and pull her upright. She’s as limp as a ragdoll as she sobs, completely devastated by the loss of her family and I wrap my arms around her tightly, for once knowing _exactly_ how she feels.

I know there’s nothing I could possibly say to make her feel better, so I simply hold her and let her cry. Effie loses her voice long before the tears dry up, but after what feels like several hours, she’s finally reduced to silent hiccups. She’s curled up in my arms, her head against my chest, and I can feel how mentally, physically and emotionally drained she is.

My lips brush the top of her head in a gentle kiss as I slide one arm behind her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her up from the couch. I carry Effie towards what I’m sure is the bedroom and gently lay her down on the bed. Her face is blotching from crying, nose wet and red to match her eyes. Even like this, I wouldn’t call Effie hideous. There is a faraway look in her eyes; a vacant, unblinking stare that worries and wounds me. I feel completely helpless.

As I pull back to leave her in peace, her fingers catch my sleeve, and a very hoarse whisper escapes her lips. “Stay.”

\--

TBC 

Aven is of English origin, meaning “mountain avens.” An aven is a plant with white, yellow, or reddish flowers. Since Mrs. Everdeen’s parents ran the apothecary in the Merchant area of District 12, I figured they would have given her a name from nature—as she and Mr. Everdeen seem to have carried on the tradition with Katniss and Primrose.


	2. Chapter 2

As tired as I am, I don’t sleep. I lay beside Effie, letting her curl up against me as she falls into a fitful sleep; listening to her whimper from her nightmares as I try to anticipate what’s going to happen next. The victory over Panem is still too new, but the Rebellion’s gained support in every district—though some by force. If Coin does implant herself in the seat of the Presidency, there could be upheaval in the districts. Though Coin was an efficient leader in District 13, I can’t imagine the laws and structure she would try to impose over an entire country and it makes me feel leery about the near future. It had never been officially decreed that she would assume the post, but most of us had somehow known it would be Coin’s move. I suppose it was the price we were willing to pay if it meant having a chance to take over the country. Now, though, it seems like a bad deal.

“Papa…” Effie whimpers in her sleep. I draw her tighter against me.

I feel interminably guilty for everything that’s happened to Effie. Her imprisonment, whatever torture and maltreatment they subjected her to, the loss of her parents and sister… I know I’m not directly responsible for any of these things, but maybe I should have tried harder to warn her about the rebellion. I want to be angry with her for being so thick when it came to whatever hints I had dropped for her, but Effie’s mind doesn’t work like the rest of us. She doesn’t concern herself with conspiracy and disorder. If it’s doesn’t deal with manners, appearance, or being on schedule, then it probably doesn’t cross Effie’s mind. Sometimes I envy her simplicity…but only sometimes. The rest of the time she mostly just annoys the hell out of me. 

Still, despite our differences and constant irritation of each other, the years we’ve known one another have lended us a certain amount of mutual respect, and even—perhaps—friendship. I sure as hell like to give her grief about her Capitol ideologies and atrocious style, and Effie has learned to give almost as good as she gets…mostly in the way of nagging me, but it’s better than when she would simply break down in tears anytime I would open my mouth. 

I think about Katniss and Peeta and what lies in store for them. Peeta has a long way to go before he recovers from the hijacking, but I have to give the boy credit—he’s come a long way, against so many odds, and as much as he was tortured into hating Katniss…the love he has for her is still there. Katniss really could live a hundred thousand lifetimes and never deserve that boy. They both have a long road ahead of them in terms of healing. The Hunger Games, the war, Peeta’s imprisonment, Prim’s death… it’s so unfair for them to have faced so much already, but none of us have lived in a just society. Maybe that will change. 

For the better, I hope.

It’s just after noon when physical demands start catching up with me. I haven’t eaten in a couple of days, and I’m absolutely starving, but so exhausted that the hunger pains just make me feel sick. I want to close my eyes and sleep, but I can’t shut my mind off, and anytime I start to drift, Effie shifts or moans. I consider moving out to her couch, but I don’t want her to wake up alone and panic.

I sigh in frustration.

Effie stirs next to me, lifting her head and looking at me through the slightly swollen slits of her eyelids. “Haymitch?”

I don’t feel like being serious again yet. “Disappointed?”

Her eyes still hold that vacant expression, and she doesn’t even bother humoring me with a response. She rolls over, hugging her pillow as she curls into a ball. I feel another pang of guilt and move in to hold her from behind, waiting for her to open up to me.

It doesn’t take long.

“It hurts.” She tells me shakily. “I can’t believe they’re gone, and it hurts so much.”

“I know.” 

“I feel like someone has scooped out my insides. I feel so…hollow…and cold…and…alone.”

“I know,” I whisper, holding her a little tighter. “But you’re not alone, sweetheart. I’m here.”

She dissolves into another round of sobs, her entire body wracking from the force of it all. “I want my mother.”

I feel my own eyes stinging with tears, and clamp my arms even tighter around her, burying my face against her neck. “I know.”

As Effie cries this time, I can tell the tears are about more than just the loss of her family. She’s trying to process everything at once now—their deaths, her imprisonment…god knows what else. She’s absolutely beside herself, her fingers gripping my arms almost as if I’m the only thing holding her together. I can feel her nails digging in my skin painfully, and idly wonder if she’s drawing blood so that I’ll have something to help make her laugh about later.

When she begins to make some sort of ghoulish whine, I realize that she’s cried herself to sleep again but the part of her brain that processes grief hasn’t quite caught up yet. Her grip on me has loosened so I free one arm and gently stroke her hair, trying to shush her gently so that she might rest a little easier. After a few moments, the whining stops and Effie’s face relaxes into a dreamless mask. 

Carefully disentangling myself from around her, I quietly slip out of the bed and out of the bedroom, pulling the door to just enough to help muffle any sounds I make moving around her apartment. I lean against the wall, covering my face with my hands as I, myself, still try to process everything. Grieving women have never been forte, and part of me wants to head for the hills, but to leave Effie now would just be cruel. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not as cold-hearted as people think.

I go to the kitchen, too hungry to think about sleep now, and pillage Effie’s cabinets to find something decent to make a meal out of. Most everything perishable has long since perished, leaving jam and crackers as the main staples. I do find a bottle of wine but force myself to set it aside. As much as I would love to lose myself in the bottle right now, I know it wouldn’t be fair to Effie. I eat an entire pack of crackers with jam before the hunger pains start to subside, saving the other packets for when Effie wakes up.

Flopping down on the couch, my eyes finally refuse to stay open and I pass out in complete oblivion. 

The shrill ring of the phone startles me back into existence and I nearly fall off the couch as I blindly reach for the damn thing.

“Yeah?”

“Hey.” Katniss’ voice lacks any sort of warmth.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“Like a human torch.”

Well, the sarcasm is still intact. “Katniss, I—“

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry or anything, Haymitch. It’s not like it was your fault…it wasn’t, was it?”

“Definitely not.”

She pauses for a few seconds. “Where’s Snow?”

“That I don’t know. I assume he’s being held prisoner somewhere.”

“So Coin’s really going to keep her word and let me kill him?”

“I don’t know that either, sweetheart. I haven’t exactly had much contact with command since last night.”

“Why not?”

“Well…” I don’t want to dredge the entire story up to Katniss, knowing that if I mention her sister it would be like plunging a knife in her heart, so I just skip to the end. “They rescued Effie last night and I was trying to help her find her family.”

“Oh,” Katniss says with a slight amount of surprised relief. “Is she alright? They didn’t…hurt her…like they did Peeta, did they?”

“I don’t think they hijacked her, if that’s what you mean, but she’s been through a lot. We found out this morning that her entire family was killed.”

“Was it Snow?” I can hear her barely contained rage now.

“If it was, then you may have to wait in line for your chance to kill him.”

“Tell her…tell her…something for me.” Katniss says sadly, not having anything of significance to say to Effie either.

“I will. You just worry about healing right now, and I’ll see you soon.”

The phone clicks as Katniss hangs up without saying goodbye, and I have to say that she sounds surprisingly sane for someone in her situation. At least I feel like I don’t need to worry about her along with everything else at the moment. As I hang up the phone and sit up, I see that it has grown dark again outside. I don’t bother looking at the clock—it doesn’t matter what time it is—as I get up and head towards Effie’s room, walking as quietly as I can in case she’s still sleeping.

Effie is still laying on her side, curled up with the pillow, but by the dim illumination of moonlight filtering in through the curtains and bathing her pale skin, I can see that her eyes are open. I wonder how long she’s been asleep, and feel yet another pang of guilt for not having been next to her when she woke up. 

“Effie?” I say in the gentlest voice I can muster, so I don’t startle her. She doesn’t seem to hear me. so I move to the bed, sitting next to her and brushing her hair out of her face. “How long have you been awake?”

She doesn’t answer me, doesn’t even blink.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up.”

Still nothing.

“Are you hungry?”

Nothing.

I frown, sighing through my nose. “Sweetheart, I know how much it hurts, but you can’t just lay here like this. You need to get up, you need to eat, you need to keep going…”

“Why?” Her hoarse, strained voice asks.

I look at her, not sure if she actually just spoke or not until her eyes slowly roll up to meet mine.

“Why, Haymitch? My family is gone, I have no job, the Capitol’s fallen…what reason do I have to ‘get up and keep going?’”

“Because I’m asking you to.” I tell her, having nothing better to offer. “Maybe life isn’t going to be the same, but you can’t just give up.”

She gives an indelicate snort. “That’s awfully rich coming from you.”

“Look, sweetheart, I know I’m not the prime example of life after tragedy, but you’re just going to have to trust me on this. Besides that, I’m not just going to sit around and let you waste away.”

“I’m afraid, Haymitch. I’ve never been all alone before.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper, another round of tears threatening to break through again.

I take Effie’s hand and hold it gently between both of mine. “You’re not alone.”

“You won’t always be here,” she argues, her eyes glistening as she finally pushes herself up into a seated position on the bed. “Eventually you’ll go back home.”

“I promise I won’t leave until you tell me to, Effie.”

She lays her other hand on top of mine, looking at our hand sandwich rather than meeting my eyes. “What if I never tell you to leave?”

“Then I guess I’ll never go home.”

Effie blinks up, meeting my eyes again with open curiosity. “Why would you do that for me, Haymitch? You barely tolerated me before all of this, much less even liked me.”

“I know we don’t exactly see eye to eye on a lot of things—“

“On anything.” She corrects. I can’t help but chuckle.

“Okay, on _most_ things,” I concede, knowing we agreed on more recently than we ever did before. “But I do care for you, Effie. Maybe I didn’t always like you, but you grew on me after a while.”

A tentative smile graces her face before I quip, “Like a fungus” and earn a smack on the arm for it. Still, the ghost of a smile lingers on her lips.

“Thank you, Haymitch. I…suppose…I’ve come to care for you too—though crass and fiendish you may be.”

“You can add sober to that list.”

She looks surprised, as if only just remembering how much I used to drink. “Truly?”

“Not a drop since the rebellion began. Not exactly my choice, but…” I shrug a little.

Effie leans in and presses a soft, chaste kiss on my cheek. “Maybe it wasn’t your choice, but I’m proud of you all the same.”

I smile and give her a hopeful look. “Now will you please get up and come eat something?”

Effie sighs dramatically. “You really won’t give up, will you?”

“Your damn right I won’t.”

“Will you at least let me make myself a little more presentable?”

“As long as you promise not to slather a pound of makeup on your face and stick one of those god-awful wigs on your head.”

She gives me a reproachful look, but I don’t relent. “Oh, all right. It’s late anyways and we won’t be going out again, I presume?”

“Not unless you want to.”

Effie taps her nails on top our still conjoined ‘handwich’ as she considers this. “I really ought to go out and find Princess.”

“Princess?” I ask before I know the answer. “The cat?”

“Of course the cat, who else would be named Princess?” 

I bite my tongue to keep from commenting on Capitol naming trends, and decide to offer a compromise. “How about I go out and look for Princess and you…do whatever you need to do.”

She smiles coyly at me. “I’m not sure what to think of this new, accommodating side of you, Haymitch. No sarcasm or witty repartee…if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were actually being nice.”

Wasn’t I? “As opposed to…?”

“Pitying me.” She says with a soft shrug, the smile suddenly looking a little sadder.

“Effie, I’m—“

Her fingers come up and gently press against my lips, silencing me. She’s looking at me with a pleading expression, begging me with her eyes not to say anything else. I decide not to question it, and let her believe whatever she needs to believe right now. If she’d rather accept that I’m acting out of pity or guilt, so be it; but is it really so hard to believe that I can be nice? 

I must have really been an asshole to people my entire life…

Back on the street in the bitter cold, I see that more clean-up efforts have transpired during the day when we’d been sleeping. I don’t know where the cat might have run off to after it fled the apartment, but I found myself hoping that it—like most other cats—tended to stick around familiar places. I realize I have no idea what color the cat is, so even if I’m able to catch some stray cat, how do I know it’ll be Princess?

“Fuck it.” I say as I head towards what used to be her parents’ apartment. Effie will just have to deal with whatever I bring back to her.

For the first time since joining the rebellion, I find myself thinking of something Effie mentioned—jobs. For the last 25 years the only ‘work’ I’ve done has been to ‘mentor’ the tributes of District 12. It’s glaringly apparent how successful I was with that, but even if I don’t have to mentor any longer, there is the question of what will be expected of mentors. Surely the Capitol will stop providing for us the way they always have—not that there are many of us left to consider, but still… At least Effie has a viable skill set; I can’t say the same for myself. The thought of having to work in the mines makes me shudder.

Maybe it is time I return to the command center and demand to be part of the new talks. I did help win this war, after all; why should I sit back now and let someone else decide my future? Isn’t that how this whole mess started 75 years ago? If nothing else, maybe I can help Effie get a position on some task force, an aid for some official… _something_ so that she feels useful.

“Tomorrow.” I vow. Somehow I will convince Effie that this is what we need to do, and tomorrow we’ll return to the mansion.

When I reach the Effie’s parents’ block, I scan the street, looking for any signs of life.

“Here Princess.” I call softly, feeling like a complete idiot. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”

As expected, there is little more than a piece of rubbish being blown by the wind, so I move towards the apartment building, still gently calling out the cat’s name. As I pass by a pile of debris, I hear movement from beneath it and stop.

“Princess?” The debris is large pieces of rubble blow up from the pavement, but I can see that a there is a cat-sized crawlspace between two of the larger pieces. I lean down, trying to peer through the gaps to see if I can spot the feline and hear a low growl at my proximity. Definitely a cat, but I still don’t know if it’s the cat. “Princess, kitty. Come to uncle Haymitch.”

A hiss follows as I reach forward to move some debris, and as I quickly lift one of the larger pieces, something rakes across my forearm.

“AH!” I toss the rubble away and look at my forearm, finding five evenly spaces claw marks in my flesh, deep enough to have drawn blood. “You little shit…” I thrust my hand into the hole I’ve made, hearing the cat’s verbal protests as it tries to bite and claw my hand to fend me off. I manage to grab a fistful of the cat and jerk it—hissing and spitting—from its hiding place. I feel like the damn thing is made of razor blades as I fight to get a hold of the scruff of its neck and immobilize it, and by the time I have, I’m covered in bites and scratches.

The cat hangs stiffly from my hand, growling, but unable to fight. “You’re welcome.”

Since I don’t have any type of knapsack to shove the thing in, I have to carry it back to Effie’s like that, which earns a shriek of horror as I enter the apartment. Effie—dressed in some sort of silk and chiffon wrap, and what look to be heeled house shoes—runs up with her arms in front of her.

“Haymitch! You barbarian!” She takes Princess from my grasp and cuddles the animal against her. “Oh, you poor baby. Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“She’s fine; I’m the one that lost the battle.” I hold out my arms as proof and Effie gives Princess a disapproving look before she puts the cat down.

“Come here, we’ll need to clean those before they get infected.” I follow Effie down the hall and into her luxurious bathroom. “Honestly, Haymitch, where did you learn to handle cats?”

“I was trying to get her out from under some rubble. This is the thanks I got.”

Effie gives me a rueful smile as she finds a disinfectant and several cotton balls. She soaks the cotton balls with the disinfectant, holding my arm as she dabs at the deepest cuts first. I suck a breath in thru my teeth as it stings the broken skin.

“Oh, it doesn’t hurt that bad.” Effie teases me before I feel her soft, cool breath blow across my forearm. It’s a sensation I haven’t felt in nearly a lifetime and it gives me gooseflesh. She’s smirking as she looks up at me. “Better?”

“I guess that’s one way to put it.” Despite any sort of intention, the simple gesture has stirred something else in me that I haven’t felt in nearly a lifetime… Arousal. I’m not sure exactly what to think about that reaction, or the fact that it’s Effie who’s managed to inadvertently elicit the feeling, but it’s a pleasant change from all the negatives, and I find myself eager to hold onto it for a while.

Effie looks up at me without lifting her head and I can see the anticipation and apprehension clear in her expression. I start to wonder if she’d let me kiss her when she firmly presses the cotton ball against a cut, bringing back the intense sting. So much for that…

“I think we should get back to the action,” I tell her to even the mood back out. “Tomorrow we should go back to the President’s mansion. I don’t want to sit by while they plan the new Panem.”

“Do you think they’d let us back in after we broke out?”

“If they were really serious about enforcing that rule with either of us, they’d have tracked us down by now and brought us back to the mansion. Besides, if Coin is hoping to take over as President, she won’t want to start off on the wrong foot looking like another tyrant.”  
Effie nods hesitantly. “If you think that’s best.”

“Hey…” I wait until she’s looking into my eyes again, then smirk. “I’m the brains of the operation, remember?”

I can see her fighting a smile. “It’s a good thing you’re the brains, Haymitch, because you haven’t got anything else going for you.”

I feel my mouth fall open in shock at her comeback and her tinkling laugh echoes off the marbled walls. She hands me the cotton ball and bottle of disinfectant.

“Here, I think you can handle it from here. I’m going to see if I have anything to feed Princess.”

I stand there in stunned silence for several seconds as she slips past me, not quite sure if I should feel insulted by her or proud of her. I hope that her banter means she’s feeling better. Tossing the cotton ball aside, I hold my arm over the sink and pour the disinfectant over the cuts, letting out a silent yell at the resulting burn.

After searching for some sort of bandages for the deeper cuts, I finally return to the living room to find Effie sitting at a small table in the kitchen as Princess crouches on the tabletop digging into a tin of sardines. That hollow look has already settled back into Effie’s eyes, and I know I need to distract her from her thoughts, so I do the first thing that comes to me… I belch.

“Haymitch!” She scoffs in disgust. 

“Did you eat yet?” I deftly change the subject, gesturing to the better meal the cat’s getting than I got. Where the hell was that tin of fish when I was looking for food? 

“I wasn’t hungry.” Effie says defiantly. When I give her a disapproving look, she begins to argue. “I barely had time to properly bathe myself, let alone get dressed again, before you were back. I’ll eat when I’m hungry, Haymitch. Besides, it’s far too late in the evening now.”

I move over to the counter where I left the packet of crackers and jam. I move them over to the table, pick up the can of sardines—gaining a hiss of depreciation from Princess before she jumps down to finish her meal where I’ve placed it on the floor—and sit down adjacent to Effie. Effie watches this silently, but crosses her arms when I slather a layer of jam on top of a cracker and hold it out to her.

“Eat.”

“No, thank you.” She says, turning her face the other way.

“Sweetheart, if you think I won’t shove this down your pretty little throat, you are sadly mistaken. Now eat it.”

Effie swings her head back around, opening her mouth to chastise me, and I cram the cracker in her mouth before she can get a word out. Her eyes widen in shock and she looks completely flummoxed as she realizes she can’t berate me without talking around a mouthful of food. I smirk at Miss Manners as she seems completely at a loss for what to do, finally deciding she has no choice but to chew and swallow.

“Don’t test me, sweetheart.” I finally say before smearing another cracker with jam and holding it out to her. Effie’s eyes become angry slits before she snatches the cracker from my hand and starts to nibble on it. Satisfied, and starving, I put a fair amount of jam on a third cracker and eat half of it in one bite.

“You really are infuriating; you know that, don’t you?” She tells me tartly.

“Whatever works.”

She huffs but begins to eat the cracker a little quicker and even licks a smudge of jam from her finger as she pops the last of it in her mouth. She looks at me meekly and I laugh before preparing another cracker for her.

“Thought you weren’t hungry?”

“Don’t gloat, Haymitch. It’s unbecoming.” Effie gets up from the table, opening a drawer I apparently missed earlier and pulls out two more cans of sardines tucked away. I see her eyes fall on the bottle of wine I’d passed up earlier. Effie worries her lip between her teeth.

“Would you think me terribly unkind if I had some wine?”

It takes me a second to figure out how to answer her. Part of me wants to warn her against turning to that vice—knowing that it’ll ruin her if she lets it—but I feel hypocritical in stopping her. The other part of me wants to beg her to share it with me, but I feel as though I would be somehow letting her down if I started drink again now. Finally I just decide to let this one go. She needs it right now, I don’t.

“No.”

Effie opens the bottle and pours herself a glass before she leans against the counter and looks at me strangely. “You really have changed, haven’t you?”

“Probably not as much as you think.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit.” Effie drains her glass in one swallow, refills it, then returns to the table with the sardines. “Can I ask you a question, Haymitch—without getting a sarcastic answer?”

“Shoot.” I say as I peel back the tin on my sardines. I feel something snag my the leg of my jumpsuit and look down at Princess who is eyeing my tin of fish. “You scratch the shit out of me and expect a handout? Get lost!”

Effie tsks in disapproval, speaking to the cat. “Don’t listen to him, Princess. Here you go.”

I stare dumbfounded as Effie reaches into my tin, pulls out a sardine and feeds it to the cat. “And you say I have no manners.”

She cuts her eyes at me in a non-threatening manner before turning serious again. “Who have you lost?”

There’s no need for clarification and I feel my hunger wan slightly as the memories bubble up to the surface. “My…uh…mother, brother, and girlfriend, Mica.”

“How did it happen?”

“Execution.” I say matter-of-factly. “Punishment for my winning the Hunger Games.”

“But…why?” She seems truly confused as to why this sort of thing would ever happen to a victor that I can’t help but feel somewhat sorry for her naivety. 

“Being a victor’s not as glamorous as it seems, sweetheart. Sometimes I think we suffer more than anyone else simply because we know it’s all a lie. The fame… ‘fortune’… glory. They find some way to keep us enslaved. Keep us from getting too proud or arrogant. I used the game to help me win—finding that force field saved my life, but it cost me everything I ever cared about.”

“Is that why you drank?”

“It’s a big part of the reason.”

“What’s the rest of it?”

“Sweetheart, if you really have to ask that, then I don’t think you know me at all.”

“Well, I don’t know you, do I? Not truly. Not like this.”

“Because they made me mentor those kids. Year after year I watched them die. Kids I knew. I was friends with some of them, until finally I was old enough not to have been in school with any of them. Every year, Effie. I tried to do right by them. I promised them I’d get them sponsors, find some way to get them out, and each time they died. Over and over and over until I couldn’t take it anymore and I just stopped trying. I didn’t even bother talking to any of them after a while—as you know from the past few years you’ve been around. It was easier to let them die if I didn’t know them…if I didn’t care, and the only way to do that was by drinking myself stupid every single day. But, you know, the funny thing is that the guilt never went away. No matter how drunk I got, I could never stop blaming myself for all of it. Those are the faces that haunt my dreams, Effie, the face of my mother, my brother Lysander, Mica, and the forty-four boys and girls I failed from District 12.”

When I finally stop ranting, I notice that tears are trailing down Effie’s cheeks. “Do you want to know something, Haymitch?”

“What?” I feel moody and morose and sorry that I didn’t drink that bottle of wine earlier when I had the chance.

“You know how I used to say I hoped I’d be promoted to another district? A district of winners?”

I give her a hard stare, waiting for her to continue without answering her.

“It wasn’t because I wanted to be associated with a better district…it’s because I couldn’t stand watching the tributes die every year. I _did_ get to know them, and I used to cry myself to sleep whenever they were killed. I wanted to be in a district that nearly always won so that I wouldn’t have to watch them die.”

The admission changes almost every perception of Effie Trinket I’ve ever held and I stare at her in awe for a moment. “Why did you want this stupid job anyways?”

“Because we were raised to be proud of the Hunger Games.” She tells me, almost sounding disgusted at the idea. “When I was little, I never really believed the deaths were real. My mother—“ She nearly chokes on the word and takes several seconds to compose herself. “My mother used to tell us the deaths were just pretend, but when I got older, I knew they were real. Still, though, it was considered a prestigious career choice to be involved in the Games.”

“How old are you anyways?”

Effie stiffens at the question, fussing with her hair indignantly. “A lady never reveals her age, Haymitch.”

“40?”

She squeals in offense and throws a sardine at me. I burst into laughter and she gives me a peevish look, placing her hands on her hips. “If you think I look 40, I am jumping out that window!”

“You don’t look 40.” I tell her, still laughing. 

“Well, how old do I look?”

I calm my laughter, wiping wetness from my own eyes. “Come on, sweetheart, how would I know?”

“You’re the one that brought it up; you must have an opinion on the matter.” She replies coolly. 

“Alright…I would say 30. 31 maybe.”

“I suppose that’s close enough.” She sighs. “I’ll be 29 in just over three months.”

“Okay, now I need a drink.”

She looks worried that I might actually break my sobriety streak and grabs my hand. “What?! Why!?”

“Relax, sweetheart, I’m _kidding_. I just feel…incredibly old right now.”

“You’re not _that_ old, Haymitch.”

“I’m 41.”

“I know.”

“You were about to throw yourself out a window when you thought I believed you were my age.”

“Well, it’s different for a lady.”

“Oh, well, naturally.” 

Effie smiles and takes another sip of wine before giving me another coy look. “Do you really like me better like this? Without any makeup or my hair?”

“Definitely. You don’t look like such a clown.”

“Well, that’s flattering.” She says hotly.

“What? It’s a compliment.”

“A compliment is telling a woman she looks nice or that you think she’s pretty, not that she looks less like a clown without makeup.”

I reach over and take Effie’s hand in mine, looking into her eyes with a genuinely sincere expression. “Sweetheart, I think you’re very beautiful when you don’t look like a clown, but if you keep fishing for compliments, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

Effie tries to give me a reproving look, but she can’t hide the blush in her cheeks as she snatches her hand back. “Oh, stop it.”

We fall into companionable silence for a while as we finish our sardines and what’s left of the crackers and jam. Effie gets up to refill her wine glass and also fills a glass with water for me before we move into the living room and sit on the couch. She sits closer than is probably necessary to me, tucking her legs up under her as she leans into my side, worming her way under my arm. I give her a snarky look. “Comfy?”

“I just…need to be close to someone right now.”

“Sorry you have to settle for me.”

She slaps my leg with no real effort. “Hush.”

I know she’s settling back into a melancholy mood, but I’m running out of steam to keep small talk going. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not yet.” Her voice shakes.

“Okay.” I press a chaste kiss to her temple. “When you do…” 

“Thank you, Haymitch.”

“Sure, honey.”

I see her smile ever so slightly. “I think I prefer ‘honey.’ You call everyone sweetheart. I’ve never heard you call anyone else honey.”

“Only the easy girls.”

This time she does hit my leg with effort, looking at me with open offense before she sees the smirk on my face. “You are absolutely rotten, Haymitch Abernathy.”

I chuckle as Effie settles back against me, though I can tell she’s still ruffled.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Always make a stupid joke or some kind of smarmy comment to ruin anything nice that comes out of your mouth.”

“I don’t always—“

“Yes, you do!” She insists. “Half the time I don’t know whether or not I should even believe you. You make me feel like one big joke sometimes.”

When I fail to apologize or explain myself, Effie sighs and shakes her head. 

“Sometimes I just with you’d be serious for just one minute.”

I shift slightly, setting my water down on the table beside the couch and lifting my hand to cup her face as I use my other to turn her towards me until she’s looking at me. I can see the annoyance and curiosity in her eyes as she tries to figure out what I’m doing.

“I can be serious.” I murmur as I drop my lips to hers in a tender kiss.

\--

TBC

I named Haymitch's girlfriend Mica to continue the trend of nature names in District 12. Mica is a mineral.


	3. Chapter 3

The kiss lingers for several moments before Effie gently pulls back blushing so furiously that I can almost feel the heat from her face. I can tell by her dumbstruck expression that she has no idea what to think about what just happened.

She opens her mouth to say something, then quickly closes it again. Finally, after a few seconds, she gives me a look of warning. “I swear, if you say _one word_ right now, I will never speak to you again.”

I wait silently, letting her work out what she’s trying to say, noticing she hasn’t moved away from me yet and trying to contain my smugness. 

“What exactly was that?” She finally asks with slight exasperation.

“Well, in District 12, we call that a kiss. It’s a display of intimacy between two people—usually a man and a woman—“

“Haymitch.” She snaps in irritation. “You know what I mean.”

I reach up, brushing the backs of my fingers lightly across her neck as I move her hair back. “Do I?”

She shivers slightly at the touch, her eyes fluttering as she fights the natural inclination to close them in response to my touch. “ _Why_ did you kiss me?”

I shrug slightly. “I don’t know… I wanted to?”

“But _why_ did you want to?”

“Look, sweetheart, it was just a kiss. Don’t analyze it to death.” 

The truth of the matter is that I don’t know why I wanted to kiss Effie, or why I followed up with that desire. Maybe it’s just all the emotions of this messed up situation, maybe it’s the fact that she is an attractive young woman who—truth be told—does have an effect on me, or maybe I just wanted to shut her up for a minute. Maybe it’s all of those. Maybe it’s none. What I do know is that I didn’t dislike kissing her. It’s been a _really_ long time since I’ve kissed a woman like this, and it felt nice. 

It feels less nice now that she’s questioning the hell out of it…

“I don’t want to play games, Haymitch.” Her eyes water as she finally pushes away from me, moving over to the other end of the couch. “I ask you to be serious for one minute and you kiss me?!”

“Effie,” I sigh. “I wasn’t trying to piss you off. I was trying…hell, I don’t know what I was trying. You were there and it just felt right at the time.”

She looks frustrated and overwhelmed and presses her fingers to her temples. “I don’t need this right now.”

I can tell she’s on the verge of hysterics, but rather than feeling bad for adding to her woes, I just feel annoyed. “Geeze, sweetheart, it’s no wonder you’re single if this is how you act anytime a guy tries to kiss you.”

I toss back a gulp of water as I slouch down further in the cushions and kick my feet up on the coffee table. The fact that it’s not liquor in my glass only makes me even bitterer against the daft woman and I reach for the remote and flick the TV on in an attempt to ignore her presence. 

After several minutes, Effie plunks her wine glass down on the coffee table and gets to her feet. I look up at her, expecting to her storm off, but her face is set in determination as she talks two haughty steps towards me, yanks my water glass out of my water, sets it on the coffee table, and gathers the end of the silk and chiffon dressing gown, pulling it up to her knees. Then, very daintily, Effie steps one leg over mine. One knee at a time, she kneels on the couch, straddling my lap as she drops the gown and rests her hands on my shoulders.

“You infuriate me.” She says before claiming my lips with fervor. My arms slip around her thin frame, pulling her body into full contact with mine as we simultaneously deepen the kiss. I can feel myself growing hard, my groin practically throbbing with desire and I know Effie can feel it between her legs when she presses down hard on my lap, rolling her hips against mine. Her hands come up, on the sides of my face, fingers twisting in my hair. She sucks my bottom lip in between her teeth, grazing it as she roughly jerks on my hair, yanking my head against the back of the couch and holds me there, looking down at me with a burning look in her eyes.

I’m completely breathless as I grip her waist, trying to hold her in place. “Don’t stop now, sweetheart.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t stop, Haymitch.”

I respond by pushing her hips down and pressing my hips up, punctuating the thought with my arousal. I see her eyes puddle into pools of blackness, indicating her own level of desire. “Fair point,” she says breathlessly, trying to hold onto the upper hand. “But I’m not some cheap floozy that you think you can just have your way with.”

“Honey, I think it’s you who’s having your way with me. And besides, I have never considered you to be cheap.”

She makes a noise of protest as she realizes I left out floozy, but I cut off the sound as I drag her back in for another kiss. The mood seems to shift from frenzied need to a slow-burning hunger and we kiss deeply for several moments, Effie moaning softly in my mouth as I kiss her in a way I’m certain she’s never been kissed before.

I don’t know how far she had intended to take this when she decided to jump track, but I try and tempt fate as I bring my hand up and cup her neck, stroking my thumb along the delicate skin of her throat. She gradually begins to slow her response to my kisses, though I’m fairly certain she has no clue she’s doing so, and I gently break the kiss to lightly sweep her hair back as my lips kiss just under her jaw.

My mouth caresses its way down her neck slowly, eliciting sighs of pleasure as Effie’s head slowly falls back on its axis. I slip my fingers along her shoulder, delicately dragging the flimsy fabric of her dressing gown down her arm. I kiss the top of her bare shoulder, nipping her perfect pale skin lightly, and brush my tongue along her clavicle to the hollow of her throat. 

I dare to drop my hand on top of one of her breasts, feeling its slight heftiness against my palm but Effie clears her throat and sweeps my hand away from her chest as she sits back with a demur expression. I sigh in mild irritation.

“Now who’s playing games…make up your mind, sweetheart. Either you want it, or you don’t.”

“I want you to be serious with me.” She says. 

When I sigh again with more irritation, she holds up a hand, gesturing me to wait before I get angry. I watch her slowly unbelt the tie of her dressing gown before she falters for a moment. Her cheeks are crimson as she slowly eases the gown off her shoulder, revealing her skin to the very tops of her breasts. My eyes are fixed on that hemline, waiting for it to sag further down, but it stays firmly in place as she holds the gown together between her breasts.

“For every serious answer you give me…” she says, blushing further. “I’ll reward you.”

I feel like I have to roll my tongue back in my mouth before I can ask, “How do you know I won’t just tell you what I think you want to hear?”

“Because if you lie to me, Haymitch, and I ever find out that you’ve lied to me, then I will hate you for the rest of my life. And you’ll have to live with that on top of all the other guilt you feel.”

I drag my eyes up to hers, finding that she means every word. “I didn’t know you were such a viper, sweetheart. You really know where to strike to make it count.”

“Then we have an understanding?”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know how you feel about me.”

“That’s a loaded question.”

She starts to pull the gown back up and makes like she’s going to move off my lap.

“Okay, okay…okay.” I growl as she stops and waits to see if I’ll answer. In my head, my thoughts are racing as I try to figure out if this is worth it, if I’m really so desperate that I’d spill my guts to her just for the hope that this might lead to something really good. What have I got to lose?

“I’m not exactly…great when it comes to telling people how I feel.”

“Then answer yes or no….Do you care for me?”

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Her hands drop just a fraction of an inch lower. “Do you like me?”

“Sometimes.” I say, mesmerized by her skin, belated adding, “When you’re not annoying the hell out of me.”

Her hands dip even lower, the material cascading over the swell of her breasts. I feel like my heart is thudding against my ribs and can’t remember the last time I was this turned on by the prospect of simply seeing a naked woman. “Do you love me?”

It takes several seconds for the question to penetrate the pounding of blood in my ears and process in my brain before my eyes snap up to hers once again. Of all the ridiculous questions she might have asked me… Do I love her. I haven’t dared to love anyone since I lost Mica. It’s not a concept I feel even remotely connected to. I don’t know that I would even know _how_ to love anyone at this point. _Love_ , I scoff in my head. It’s a fantasy, a dream, something women sigh forlornly about as they make stupid wishes on falling stars or pluck petals off of flowers. They think love is romantic and sweet and something to aspire to, but love is dangerous and devastating and deadly. It’s a weakness, and a burden, and the minute you tell someone you love them, you chain yourself to them for the rest of your life. Your happiness, your hopes, your dreams…everything depends on them. And when they’re gone and leave you alone…all you’re left with are the ashes of what once was and what will never be. Who in their right mind would ever want to fall in love?

I release a slow, steady breath as I lightly grasp the material of Effie’s gown and pull it back over her shoulders to cover her. “Honey, if it’s love you’re looking for, you’ve come to the wrong man.”

She smiles, though somewhat sadly as she knots the belt of the dressing gown, then leans forward and gives me a long, sweet kiss. I can feel the look of confusion creasing my brow even before she pulls back again.

“What was that for?”

“It was your reward for being honest…and not being a complete cad.”

“You were expecting me to lie, weren’t you?”

“I wanted to see what kind of man Haymitch Abernathy really is.” Her eyes are tearing up. “Now I know he’s the best kind of man…and I love him dearly for it.”

I’m aware enough of the different kinds of love to know she’s not declaring her undying devotion to me. It’s the love of respect and admiration and friendship—the kind of love I still can feel. Effie leans in one last time to kiss me, then slips off my lap. 

“Oddly enough, I’m still quite tired. What time should we leave in the morning?”

“Early, I guess. The sooner we get back, the better chance we have of getting up to speed on anything we’ve missed.”

“Very well.” She lingers awkwardly for a moment, unsure how to end this strange evening. Finally, she offers me the brightest smile she can muster. “Goodnight, Haymitch.”

“Sweet dreams, Effie.”

I listen to swish of fabric as Effie retreats to the bedroom, feeling that damnable guilt pressing down on my chest. She asked me to be honest, and I still feel like I let her down. Princess jumps up on the coffee table, flicking her tail as she looks at me with bright yellow eyes. I sense that she’s judging me, too.

“Don’t make me sorry I rescued you.” I grouse at her before tipping myself sideways and stuffing a throw pillow under my head. Princess jumps from the table onto the back of the couch, running the length of it until she settles into a crouch above my head, watching me carefully. “And don’t get any ideas when I fall asleep. You so much as extend your claws and I’ll rip them out one by one.”

As if in response, the cat tucks her feet under, curls her tail around herself and closes her eyes as she starts to purr. I turn my attention to the screen, still flickering the latest message from Coin in repeat, and listen to it as I drift back off to sleep.

“Haymitch…” Effie’s voice is soft but persistent as it pierces my sleep-hazed brain and drags me out of a dreamless sleep. “Haymitch, wake up.”

I blink my eyes open blearily and find myself looking up into the unnaturally white face of the Capitol’s version of Effie Trinket. A curly pinkish wig sits atop her head, and her glaringly pink blouse is almost blinding this early in the morning.

“I had the most wonderful dream,” I say, turning my face down into the pillow. “There was a rebellion against the Capitol and the rebels won, and you weren’t dressed up as a clown.”

I can almost hear Effie put her hands on her hips before she snaps out a sharp, “Get up.”

Something bounces off the back of my head and I look up to see Princess scamper towards the kitchen as Effie begins to open a fresh can of sardines for her. I roll off the couch and saunter down the hall to the bathroom, taking a minute to empty my bladder before I’m ready to venture back to the mansion.

We skip breakfast, neither of us particularly hungry and Effie locks up the apartment after making sure that Princess has enough food and water at her disposal for at least a day or two in case we don’t make it back. There are a few taxis running people around the more driveable streets of the Capitol, so we take one as close to the mansion as it can get us, then walk the remaining two blocks. The guards on duty have changed again, but I recognize one of them and ask him to radio in to Plutarch to tell him we want to meet with him and Coin.

“They’ve been expecting you.” The guard relays to me. He instructs us to wait in the foyer of the mansion so Effie and I climb the steps, go in, and wait.

“Are you sure about this, Haymitch?”

“Less sure, now that we’re here.” I can’t help but feel somewhat on edge. 

It isn’t long before Plutarch comes down the grand staircase with a wide smile. I feel an immediately dislike for him.

“It’s good to have you back, old friend.” 

“I thought I told you we’re not—“

“Oh, come on, Haymitch. You can’t stay mad at me forever…can you?” He asks, with uncertainty. He doesn’t wait for my answer before he turns to Effie. “I must apologize to you, dear Effie, for the way we treated you after your rescue the other night. I had asked that you be shown to a room with all the comforts so that you could refresh and relax until we had a moment to speak, but the soldiers in 13 can be a bit militant.”

“I figured you would have had us tracked down and brought back.” I say, still distrusting him.

“You’re not prisoners, Haymitch. We were simply trying to keep everyone safe until we knew we had control of the whole Capitol.” I harrumph, letting him know I don’t believe him and he sighs. “Listen, come upstairs, President Coin has really wanted to visit with you, Effie, and I’d like to fill Haymitch in on what he’s missed.”

We follow Plutarch up the stairs where he escorts Effie to the President’s office, which Coin has taken over, and I watch as the two women are introduced. Effie seems to be capable of holding her own, so I tell her to find me later and leave with Plutarch.

“Listen, Haymitch, I’m sorry we kept you in the dark about the parachutes. We figured the less people who knew, the less of a chance the plan would backfire.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to, Plutarch. You killed Katniss’ sister.”

“I know. And I am sorry, but she died for the greater good, Haymitch.”

I bite my tongue to keep from yelling at him, and he leads me to a room where Paylor, Beetee and Enobaria are waiting. Beetee stands and shakes my hand. Paylor says she’s glad I’m still alive and asks if I found what I was looking for.

“Yes, but it isn’t quite what I was hoping for.”

Enobaria and I exchange a terse nod and she looks about as happy to be here as I am.

“Have you spoken to Katniss?” Beetee asks.

“Briefly, last night. She wants to know what the plan is.”

“Right now the plan is restoring order.” Plutarch tells me. “Coin is already assigning teams to go into the districts to ensure that the ceasefire is being enforced and that there is no further resistance against Capitol supporters and Peacekeepers. Our main focus is establishing control.”

“And Snow?” I ask. 

“They’ve got him locked away in his arboretum,” Paylor tells me. “Waiting for Katniss to be well enough to execute him.”

“No trial?” 

“No need.” Plutarch responds.

“Just playing devil’s advocate here, but don’t you think you ought to at least pretend to give him a fair trial? It doesn’t exactly put the new President in a favorable light if our first major act is an execution. Kind of a leaves a bad taste in your mouth, don’t you think?”

“Coin thinks it best that we send the message that Snow’s reign is over.” Plutarch counters.

“And you thought it best to do it as dramatically as possible.” 

“Haymitch—“

“Tell me I’m wrong.” 

Plutarch’s mouth snaps shut and his spine stiffens as he regards me. “I think I liked you better as a drunkard.”

“Yeah, I cared a lot less back then. Easier to push your ideas onto.”

“I don’t recall twisting your arm about becoming involved.”

“Alright, put your dicks away.” Enobaria calls over our arguing. “Look, Haymitch, it’s already been debated and decided. Snow had a chance to surrender on multiple occasions.”

I can tell no amount of arguing is going to change any of their minds, so I give up and slouch back in the chair. “Then what do you need me for?”

“We don’t.” Plutarch tells me arrogantly. “ _You_ came back to _us_.”

“We’d like to know we have your support in this.” Beetee finally speaks for the first time since the argument began.

“Does it matter at this point? Like you said, the decision’s been made. Who cares if I support it or not?”

“Very well,” Plutarch says with an air of finality. “If that’s the way you feel. I would ask that you avoid speaking with Katniss for the time being. She tends to be swayed by your opinions and we don’t want her faltering at the last minute and making us look like fools.”

“You don’t need Katniss for that, Plutarch.” 

I can see his face turning purple as he tries to control his rage towards me, and he shifts the topic. “Annie and Johanna are on a transport from District 13, we expect them to arrive in the Capitol later this afternoon. Haymitch, are you still agreeable to speaking to Annie?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“If you’re not man enough to do it.” I quip.

“Very well.” A layer of red mingles with the purple and I find myself wondering what other colors I can add to his face. “Katniss and Peeta are still being treated, but we’ve had word that the treatments are going well. Peeta will be able to return sometime tomorrow, possibly the following day, but Katniss will need to remain in the hospital while they continue her skin cell treatments. I would like each of you to head up a particular task force from here in command, keep in contact with you assigned districts and send whatever aid you can. We will be sending film crews to the districts for footage, as well as filming new propos featuring Coin.”

That doesn’t surprise me. Better to try and rally support for her now, than after she has Snow killed. I’ve decided I’ve heard enough. “I don’t care about what’s going on in the districts right now. I want to be part of the discussion about how we’re going to move forward and what’s in store for Panem with Coin at the helm. Put me on _that_ task force.”

“I’m with Haymitch on that one.” Paylor says.

Plutarch pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Anyone else?”

Beetee and Enobaria say nothing. 

“Good. Then Haymitch and Paylor, you will meet with myself, Coin and a few other advisors later this afternoon. Beetee and Enobaria, we’ll soon have a list of what we needed headed up and you can have your choice of where to help.”

“Anything else?” I ask.

“That’s all for now.” Plutarch seems interminably glad to be rid of me for the time being. “There is a brunch being served downstairs in the dining room. Please, help yourselves. Haymitch, we’ve supplied everyone’s room with clean clothes and grooming supplies.”

I can tell he’s hinting at the fact that it’s been several days since my last bath, and I almost decide to keep my uncleanliness streak just to offend his senses, but I try to focus on what’s important. Making sure the new government we put in place doesn’t screw us over wins out over pissing Plutarch off. I decide to shower first, then eat, and so head off to the room I was originally assigned to. 

It’s a standard bedroom, but the furniture is expensive and mostly made of mahogany. In the dresser I find several jumpsuits like the one I’m wearing—courtesy of District 13—undershorts and socks. Would it kill them for just some regular trousers and shirts? I hope this doesn’t become the new fashion norm for the country, and shudder at the thought. 

Stripping down and leaving a trail of dirty clothes to the bathroom, I find a small shower kit that contains a toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, soap and shaving supplies. I look at my face in the mirror, running my hand over the weeks’ worth of growth on my chin and over my lip. While it’s definitely unkempt and longer than I usually care to have it, I decide to keep the length and just trim it up a bit so I look a little less like a goat, then brush my teeth.

I take my time in the hot shower, enjoying the warm spray of the water and letting it wash away my tension. I still feel daunted by the road ahead, but knowing I’ll at least have some say in shaping the future brings a little piece of mind. Somehow I still don’t completely trust Plutarch and Coin, but right now, there are few alternatives and I don’t see anyone else stepping up for a leadership role. 

I wash my hair twice before it feels clean and scrub myself down with a washcloth. By the time I climb out of the shower, I almost feel like I want to nap instead of eat. I dry myself off and drape the towel over my head, rubbing my hair to dry it as I walk out of the bathroom.

“Oh!” Effie squawks and I stop dead in my tracks and yank the towel back off my head to cover my lower half. I see her seated on the edge of the bed, her face turned away and one hand up next to her eyes to shield me from her peripheral vision. There’s a tray of food and two drinks next to her on the bed. “I’m sorry, I should have let you know I was in here.”

I laugh and tuck the towel around my waist as I move to sit on the other side of the tray. “Sweetheart, after last night, I’m not sure there’s much left for us to be embarrassed about.”

Effie tentatively turns back to me, trying to avoid looking anywhere by my eyes. “We didn’t exactly _do_ anything last night, Haymitch.”

“Whose fault is that?” I grin as I pick up a piece of a quartered sandwich and take a bite.

She gives me a reproachful look. “Aren’t you going to get dressed?”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” I ask, still grinning.

Effie tsks in annoyance and picks up a sandwich of her own, turning so that her entire body is facing forward. “Really, Haymitch…you are completely vile sometimes.”

“I’m not the one who let themselves into my room while I was in the shower…waiting to get a peek.” I tease, taking a bite and leaning back on my elbow somewhat provocatively. “Like what you see, sweetheart?”

She turns then and gives me a peevish look. “Hard to tell. What exactly was I looking at?”

I laugh at the teasing insult. “Ouch.” 

She smirks somewhat triumphantly.

“So what did you and Coin talk about?”

“My next assignment.” She tells me as we eat. “She’s asked me to be her assistant—help with any scheduling, taking dictation, helping to keep everyone organized and on task.”

“Sounds like the perfect job for you.”

She shrugs. “We’ll see, I suppose.”

“You know they plan to kill Snow without a trial.”

Effie swallows her sandwich dryly. “Yes.”

“Nice way to show the nation how much greater we’ll be.”

Effie changes the subject. “What about you? What will you do?”

“Sit in on the committee that’s going to discuss the restructuring of Panem.”

We fall into silence for a moment as we look at each other, realizing that we probably won’t see much of each other for the next few days. I don’t know why that bothers me as much as it does, and I feel like we should establish some sort of routine so that we see each other when we can. If for no other reason so that I can make sure she’s alright and keep my promise to her that I won’t leave her until she tells me too.

“Are you going to stay here or at your place?”

“I don’t know.” She sighs. “I feel like I need some separation from this so that it doesn’t consume me…what about you?”

“It’d be a little hard to commute back and forth from here to District 12 every day.”

She laughs softly. “You could stay with me…if you want.”

It’s an offer I feel eager to jump on and that makes me very apprehensive, especially after our conversation last night. Suddenly I feel like there is a giant elephant in the room and I know we have to talk about the expectation of whatever strange relationship exists between us now.

“What is it that you want, Effie?” I ask gently, sitting up so I can show her I’m being serious right now. 

“I can’t really explain it.” She says, standing up and pacing a little out of nervousness. “I was always so sure that you disliked me before all of this. It took some time, but I accepted that and found a way to get on with you despite our differences. But the past day has proved all of that wrong and brought up feelings that I…” She stammers and turns her back to me. “I’ve never told you this, and you’ll probably never let me live it down, but I’ve always liked you, Haymitch.”

I smirk. “You had a crush on me, didn’t you?”

She turns to look at me with an exasperated look. “Go ahead; laugh.”

I try to keep the chuckle out of my voice as I say, “I’m not laughing.”

Her expression turns to one of disbelief.

“Okay, I am a little, but it’s hard to take you seriously when you look like that.” I gesture to the wig and paint job covering her beautiful face. “You really had a crush on me?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” She puts her hands on her hips in annoyance as I start to lose my ability to be serious.

“Exactly what part of my irresistible charm did you find so alluring?” I ask as I get to my feet, gesturing vaguely as I come to stand a foot away from her, just to make her nervous.

Effie rolls her eyes and I know her well enough to know she’s blushing beneath the makeup. “Hardly your charm, considering you have none. I just thought…you were…handsome. Or at least had the potential to be if you ever cared to bathe now and again or fix your hair.” She reaches up and combs her fingers back through my messy, wet locks and I put an arm around her waist and pull her against me. Our eyes meet and that throbbing arousal in back in my groin. How do we keep ending up here?

“I can’t give you what you need, sweetheart.”

“What do you think I need?”

“Love. Happiness. A good life.”

Her hands rest on my cheeks. “Will you at least give me what I want?”

“I’m still waiting for you to tell me what that is.”

“You.” She whispers, leaning up to kiss my lips. I can taste her lipstick and smell the chalkiness of her powder, and it ruins the sensation for me. I removed the towel from around my waist as I pull back, and before Effie can even blink I rub her face with it. Her scream of protest is muffled by the towel and she fights to push me away. Her wigs get knocked the ground in the ensuing struggle and she finally breaks away, her face now smeared and marred by anger.

I laugh, despite myself and Effie’s eyes fill with tears. She turns and starts marching towards the bathroom, but I grab her wrist and pull her back to me, still laughing as I reach up to brush a tear away with my thumb and stroke her cheek. “If you expect me to want to kiss you, you can’t wear that god-awful stuff. It smells, and it tastes like shit.”

Effie laughs quietly, two more tears escaping her eyes. “That wasn’t nice, Haymitch.”

“No one’s ever accused me of being nice, sweetheart.” Even though I’ve only managed to smear the foul-tasting lipstick, I lean in and kiss her gently. “If we do this…get involved like you want…you have to understand that I don’t believe in love, Effie. Not anymore. I don’t want any misconceptions about what this is.”

“I don’t care if you don’t love me, Haymitch.”

“You might one day.”

She can’t argue with that. “Can you at least promise that you’ll be with me…and only me?”

“Trust me, sweetheart, there hasn’t been anyone worth mentioning in a quarter of a century. I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“Then that’s all I care about.”

This time when we kiss, I forget about the makeup and pull her even tighter against me. The sexual tension between us is so thick you could cut it with a knife and I’m not sure I can stop myself as gentlemanly as I did last night. Effie’s hands run down my bare back, stopping just at my waist line as I move to kiss her neck.

“You’re not wearing any clothes…” She says distractedly, her own arousal evident in her voice.

“And you’re wearing far too many.” I tell her as I find the zipper of her dress and ease it down. She shudders as I slip the fabric off her shoulders and down her arms, then reaches back to release her own bra. I nearly groan at the loss of contact as Effie steps back, holding my eyes with hers as she slowly undresses herself. Despite the train wreck her face looks like with the smeared colors, she’s unbelievably beautiful and I drink in every inch of her as it becomes unveiled to me. When she’s standing in her lacy panties, thigh-high hose and heels, I can’t take it anymore. I have to touch her. I close the distance between us in one step, and kiss her fiercely as I back her against the wall, pressing myself against her as my hands roam her lithe body.

I want to know the effect I’m having on her, and slip the gusset of her panties to the side as I stroke my fingers in between her legs. I feel the warm, slick wetness and moan long and low into her mouth. Effie gasps, breaking the kiss as I slide my fingers up to find her clit, caressing the little bundle of nerves, and my lips move to assault her neck.

“Haymitch…” she whines, clutching at me.

I take Effie’s hands and drag her away from the wall, pulling her along as I move back to the bed, knocking the tray to the floor before I fall back on the mattress, pulling her along with me. She shrieks and laughs as she falls on top of me, and we inch our way into the middle of the bed with Effie straddling me before we redouble our efforts. I sit up, hugging Effie against me and nipping her throat as I work my way down to her breasts.

My dick is standing at full attention, pressing up between her legs and Effie’s moving against me as I lick her nipple into a tight peak. She reaches between us, pulling her own panties to the side so that there is skin on skin contact between our genitals and I groan against the heat of her arousal. She positions herself so that the head of my dick is at her opening and I lay back on the bed, holding her hips to keep her upright as I thrust inside of her.

Effie’s head falls back with a cry of pleasure and I snake my hands up her taut stomach and cover her breasts, squeezing and playing with them as she starts to ride me. While I have always idly wondered at Effie’s virginity, there’s no questioning now that she’s had more than a little experience and the thought of it actually turns me on. Prim, proper, prudish Effie Trinket is a bit of a slut. 

I laugh at the thought, though not out loud, and believe her a little more when she says love isn’t so important to her. 

Effie completely loses herself in the pleasure and I can’t help but watch the myriad of expressions on her face before I let my eyes drift down to her breasts. I let go of them, placing my hands on her hips instead and watch them sway and bounce and jiggle. I know she’s found her sweet spot when she starts rocking more furiously against me, sinking me deeper inside of her.

“Fuck…” I groan, feeling so good it almost hurts. Effie drags her nails down my chest, bracing herself against my shoulders as she uses my body for leverage and I nearly come unglued when she starts panting and moaning continuously, fucking me furiously. I reach back, grabbing a handful of her pert little ass and slapping the flesh with a satisfying smack.

“Yes!” She moans, enjoying the kink and I spank her again. I feel her inner walls spasm, sucking in tight around my cock and I groan, knowing she’s on the edge of her orgasm.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” I tell her in a slightly gruff voice. “Show me you like it.”

Effie reaches between her legs and rubs her own clit, and within seconds, I feel her muscles clench around me as she cums. She rides out the waves of her orgasm slowly on my dick, rocking herself back and forth as one hand plays with her clit and the other grabs one of her breasts. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve seen in a while and I fight not to cum at the sight of her.

Before Effie’s even over her orgasm, she slips off my dick and down between my legs, taking me into mouth without hesitation and sucking the juices off of me. The vibration of her moans is simply too much, and when her hand grabs my balls, nails lightly digging in, I cum down the back of her throat.

“Sweet…fucking…god…” I growl as stars explode behind my eyes. I grip the back of her head, holding her in place as I fuck her mouth until the last drop of cum has been spilt, then fall back against the bed, muscles completely slack.

Effie moves and lays next to me in the crook of my arm, her body half on mine as she presses kisses against my chest. “Was it good for you?” She asks quietly.

I blink my eyes open and look at her. “Are you kidding me, sweetheart? If I’d known it would be like that, I might have lied to you last night.”

She smiles and leans up to kiss my lips and I can taste our mingled fluids on her lips. “Think anyone misses us yet?”

“Fuck ‘em.” I say, wrapping my arms around her and rolling over on top of her. “They can wait.”

Effie shakes with tinkling laughter before I silence her with a deep kiss, both of us moaning softly in response. “mmm…I think I’ve created a monster.” She teases as my dick hardens again between her legs.

“You asked for it, sweetheart.”

She laughs again and groans as I move against her. “As much as I don’t want to stop, Haymitch, I have to get cleaned up before the next meeting…and I’ll remind you that you’ve completely _ruined_ my makeup.”

“Trust me, you don’t have to.”

She scoffs and hits my chest, pushing me off of her, but I don’t miss the smile pulling at her lips as she slips out of the bed and collects her clothing before she huffs her way into the bathroom. I laugh quietly, putting my hands under my head and soaking in the post-coital bliss of satisfying sex for a few minutes before I force myself to get up and get dressed. I comb my fingers back through my hair to smooth out the Just Fucked kinks and start to pick up the spilled food as Effie opens the bathroom door.

She’s washed her face clean of the white make up, and has cleaned off most of the smeared lipstick, though she’s managed to salvage enough to keep her lips lightly tinted. Her eye shadow and mascara are still largely untouched, and while I much prefer her with none of it, she still looks very attractive like this. She gracefully swoops down to retrieve her wig and begins to situate it back on her head, tucking her hair up under it.

I shake my head at her, but my smile gives me away and she smirks back at me. I like the fact that we now have this dirty little secret between us and hope she doesn’t want to start blabbing about our relationship to the entire world. I make a mental note to ask her about it later as I set the tray on the edge of the bed and pull her into a long, slow kiss.

“If you end up getting done with everything before I do, you don’t have to stick around and wait for me.”

“I know, but I will.”

“Okay.” I kiss her again. “Then I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Promise?” She smiles as we kiss once more.

“Promise.” I give her a final, lasting kiss before I turn her towards the door, swatting her ass and giving her a little shove forward. “Now get out of here.”

\--

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Three A.M. and I can’t turn my mind off in order to sleep…again. Effie is curled up against my side, her hand on my chest as she sleeps in the crook of my arm, and I’m glad for her presence and warmth after a grueling day.

Our lunch-time romp was definitely the highlight of my day, as things just went to shit again directly after. The transport carrying Johanna and Annie arrived, and while Johanna was taken into the conference room for briefing, I was left to tell Annie that she would never see Finnick again.

I picture the way her face fell like melting wax as the news sunk in, but to Annie’s credit, she didn’t cry. Not right away, at least.

 _“We were going to have a baby…”_ She’d said. Something in the words didn’t sound just like planning for the future.

 _“Annie…are you pregnant?”_ I had found myself praying that I would be wrong, but Annie had just nodded with a dumbstruck expression.

_“Who’s going to take care of us now?”_

I’d hugged Annie so fiercely that my muscles had burned with the effort and promised her that we would take care of her, taking the liberty to speak for all the remaining tributes. At least if no one else stepped up to the plate to help, I knew that none of us would ever let harm come to Annie or her unborn child. We owed, at the very least, that much to Finnick.

The discussion about restructuring Panem was heated, to say the least. Coin, Plutarch, Paylor, Johanna, the mayors from Districts 11 and 1, myself and Effie were all in the meeting. Paylor had wanted leaders from every District present, but Coin had thought it prudent to only involve a handful of individuals in the preliminary discussions and so names had been drawn, especially with the clean-up efforts continuing in all districts. Effie kept notes on the meeting, and I felt a sick sense of guilty pleasure watching her scribble furiously during the moments when several of us were all talking at once trying to be heard.

I don’t know if we’d made much progress by the time we’d finally called it quits—all so angry and exhausted that the fuses on our tempers were nearly microscopic—but at least talks were happening. We’d been fed a nice dinner—much better than the crackers and sardines Effie and I’d had the night before—and then decided to reconvene first thing in the morning. It was well after 10 pm by the time we’d left the president’s mansion, but I still had one order of business left to take care of before I could call it a night.

 _“I’m going to go by the hospital to see Peeta and Katniss.”_ I’d told Effie as we took a cab across town. _“Do you want to come?”_

She’d thought about the offer for a few moments before shaking her head. _“I’m tired, Haymitch. I think I just want to go home and take a shower and get ready for bed.”_

_“Do you still want me to come over later?”_

_“Of course. If you want to.”_

The cab had pulled up in front of Effie’s building and I’d given her a quick kiss before reach across her to open her door. _“Leave the door unlocked. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”_

Katniss was awake when I arrived at the hospital, but Peeta was resting. She seemed annoyed at being stuck in the hospital bed, still wrapped in gauze while the new cells bonded to her existing skin.

 _“Can’t believe I have to stay here a week.”_ She groused. _“I’d rather be turning Snow into a pin cushion.”_

_“You’ll get your chance, sweetheart.”_

_“How’s Effie?”_

_“She’s okay, I think. Coin’s put her to work as her personal secretary, so at least it’s keeping her busy and not giving her time to think about her family.”_ I pause, feeling my mouth go dry and wanting to say something about Prim…but can’t. _“They brought Annie in from 13 today. No one had told her about Finnick, so I did…. She’s pregnant.”_

Katniss’ eyes had glossed over with angry tears and she’d looked away from me to hide the emotion. _“This sucks, Haymitch.”_

 _“I know it does. Trust me.”_

A silence falls between us for a few moments before Katniss asks, _“How’s my mother?”_

 _“I haven’t seen her since I told her about…your sister.”_ I finish with hesitancy.

Katniss looks at me then with mixed emotions before she settles for the unexpected. Gratitude. _“Thank you…for being the one to tell her.”_

_“I’ve known your mother a long time. I thought she should hear it from someone who gives a damn.”_

_“Will you come back tomorrow and fill me in again? I feel like I’m missing everything.”_

_“Sure. You’re really not missing much except the arguing right now. No one knows what the hell to do now that we have control.”_

_“I figured Coin would have had a plan all laid out.”_

“Oh, she does. But no one agrees with it.”

After bidding goodnight to Katniss, I checked in with the nurses about Peeta and was told he’d be released in the morning. The instructions were clear that he was to be sent to the mansion straight away. Confident that I had done everything possible, I finally allowed myself to return to Effie’s. 

She’d been on the couch when I’d gotten there, drifting off while she watched the latest message about rebuilding Panem. It was inspirational…if you didn’t know everything happening behind the scenes. Effie’s face was void of her makeup, her hair down and damp, fresh from a shower, and tonight she wore a simple dark blue robe with no frills or flowers or lace or ruffles. She took my breath away.

 _“How are they?”_ She’d asked sleepily as I sat beside her, letting her shift into my arms.

_“Peeta was out, so I didn’t talk to him, but they’re releasing him in the morning. Katniss is…Katniss.”_

Effie had chuckled, knowing exactly what that meant, and tucked her head under my chin as she played with the material of my jumpsuit. _“I really hate the way this looks on you. I miss your old clothes…wrinkled though they always were.”_

_“I’m not aiming to win any fashion shows, Effie. If it wasn’t so cold out, I’d just as soon go naked.”_

_“I’d have no complaints with that.”_ She’d said, smirking up at me. I’d rewarded her with a languid kiss, slipping my hand into the front of her robe to caress her breast and feeling her nipple respond automatically. Effie moaned into my mouth, her hand slipping down my front and squeezing my dick through the jumpsuit. I grinned, deciding to give her a little payback from earlier as I pulled at the tie belting her robe together and exposing her nakedness beneath. I groaned as I found Effie wasn’t wearing panties and couldn’t help myself from slipping my hand beneath her legs to touch her womanhood. She must have groomed herself in her shower this evening, leaving herself nearly hairless. She was smooth and already wet, and I played with her while I kissed her deeply.

When she started moving against my hand, trying to relieve the ache I was causing, I moved away from her and slid onto my knees in front of her. Effie was looking at me wantonly, and must have already guessed what I was about to do as she slipped her legs over my shoulders, sliding down a little on the couch.

I wanted to say something—call her a whore just for reaction—but I kept my thoughts to myself and bent down, kissing the inside of her thigh and working my way up. As I brushed my lips against the smooth skin of her labia, however, Effie laughed and pushed my head back.

 _“Your scruff tickles.”_ She giggled.

Armed with this new knowledge, I grabbed Effie’s wrists and pinned them down as I assaulted her with lips, tongue and beard. She laughed and wriggled and moaned beneath me, trying to get away but still wanting more despite being ticklish. Finally, when I’d taken her clit in my mouth and started sucking, she gave up the struggle and opened her legs wider to me. I had eaten her out until she’d cum, and then still hadn’t stopped until she begged me to, pushing me back with her feet as she lay slumped on the couch in recovery, her eyes drooping tiredly.

I’d scooped Effie up in my arms and carried her to bed before going to wash my face, then I stripped down and joined her in the bed. She’d shed her robe by the time I’d gotten back and meagerly tried to fondle me despite her sleepiness. I’d taken her hand and held it gently over my heart.

_“Go to sleep, Eff.”_

_“What about you?”_

_“Trust me, honey…that was good enough for me.”_

She’d sighed, but given up and had quickly fallen asleep.

Now, nearly 3 hours later, here we are. I still feel so amped up with anxiety of the things to come, but I know it’s pointless to worry about it. Still, I find myself thinking of what I would do differently if Panem was rebuilt the way I’d want it to be. I can’t help the vengeful thoughts that creep in, hoping that the Capitol people are exiled the poorest, dirtiest, most hardworking districts like 11 and 12 and forced to live the way we were. I know it’s wrong, but I still feel justified in the thought.

As I imagine all those white-powdered faces covered with coal dust and shouldering heavy pickaxes Effie whimpers in my arms. “No…please….No!” She cries, thrashing slightly against me.

“Effie.” I hold her tightly, rolling her onto her back as I shake her gently. “Effie, wake up!”

Her eyes fly open with a startled cry, and she stares up at me, panting, before she starts to cry. I sink back down on the bed and pull her into my arms again.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m here. It was just a dream.” 

“It wasn’t just a dream.” She sobs. “They were q-questioning me and h-hurting me.”

I can only assume she’s referring to her captors. “It’s over now, Effie. I’m here. No one will hurt you.”

She sniffles as she tries to calm herself, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry I woke you up.” She says, needlessly.

“Don’t be stupid. Besides, I wasn’t even asleep.”

“Why not?” She asks worriedly, looking up into my face.

“I just have a lot on my mind. It’s okay; go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to.” She argues, wiggling out of my arms and sitting up against the headboard, pulling the covers up over her chest. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Haymitch.”

“Nothing. And Everything. I’ve been thinking about what Panem would look like if I was in charge but so far all I’ve thought about is making the Capitol people work in the mines in my district. Just to knock them down a peg and show them what real life is like for those of us out there.”

“I see.” She says tartly and I look up at her to see that I’ve offended her.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” I scoff in annoyance. “I wouldn’t _actually_ do that.”

“The fact that you would even imagine such a thing is heinous, Haymitch.” She tells me critically. “I’m from the Capitol…would you make _me_ work in a mine?” 

“You’re different than they are. Sort of. Well, not really, but you’re not…” The more I try to justify that Effie’s not of that ilk, the more I realize she is. She will always be of Capitol breeding. While I don’t want to trivialize her imprisonment, or whatever happened to her there, I can’t help but believe that as badly as she might have been mistreated, it’s nothing compared to the lifetime of pain myself and others have endured. I roll away from her, annoyed and knowing neither of us is going to win this fight. “Forget it.”

“It isn’t fair to want to punish the people of the Capitol for crimes we didn’t commit.” Effie continues, despite my request. “We’ve all been brought up with the Hunger Games, with the segregation of the districts. It has been this way for generations, Haymitch. You can’t blame us for not knowing better.”

I sit up and look at her angrily. “I hope you’re not including yourself in that statement, Effie, because you _damn_ sure knew better. You traveled to the districts, you saw the way we lived, you picked the names of the children sent to their deaths. And you _loved_ doing what you did. You were _proud_ of it. You wanted to be promoted to a better district so that you didn’t have to watch your Tributes die. You could have wanted to be out of the Games completely, you could have been part of the rebellion to stop the senseless killing. No…you just wanted better Tributes.”

Her eyes fill with tears of hurt, and this time when she raises her hand to slap me, I’m ready for it and catch her wrist. 

“Tell me I’m wrong, sweetheart.”

“At least I didn’t spend every waking minute I could have prepared those children for the arena drinking myself into a stupor.” The words cut deep—once again proving that Effie can be a viper. “I may have picked their names at random, Haymitch, but you’re the one who chose to do nothing to save them.”

For a tense moment, Effie and I glare at one another until I finally release her wrist, slip out of the bed and don the jumpsuit crumpled on the floor.

“Where are you going?” Her voice has a hint of fear in it under the anger.

I don’t answer as I head towards the bedroom door.

“Haymitch…” I can hear the anxiety level rising.

My hand is on the bedroom doorknob when she whispers, “You promised you wouldn’t leave.”

Damn her. There are a thousand words vying to be the first out of my mouth, but what finally wins over is a gruff, “I’ll sleep on the couch…it’s better than a snake pit any day.”

I slam the door behind me before she has a chance to respond, and stalk down the hallway, flopping onto the couch and punching a pillow in place under my head. Whether it’s the hour or the drain on my emotions all day, I finally feel exhausted and close my eyes. 

The dreams that come to me are terrible visions of the future that my own subconscious had painted early. The rebels turning into violent, vengeful slavers against the Capitol people. Because I know the most about District 12, the dream centers there; the town the same as it was before the bombs leveled it. Capitol men and women, decked out in their finest clothes and their colored wigs, are sent into the mines to work. Their children starving, hands and faces blackened with coal dust, pressing their dirty faces against the Bakery window as they ache for the food that they once had never gone without. They have all lost hope. Hope they never before even dreamed they’d need. Life was so easy for them before the war. Everything handed to them on a silver platter, and now they waste away to nothing as they work their fingers to the bones.

Day in and day out, they go to the mines. They watch their children starve or freeze or succumb to illnesses that had once been so easily remedied. At night, the women cry and the men drink, and they all beg for it to be over. And those of us who lived in 12 before the war, stand by and watch with smug satisfaction, knowing that these people deserve this wretched life.

As I watch the men and women file back into the mines, their faces hollow from hunger, eyes empty black holes of hopelessness, a dirty pinkish thing catches my eyes and I see Effie trudging along with the other miners. She’s rail thin, her gaunt face reflecting her despair. She’s tried to paint her face with the white powder, but the coal dust has mixed in turning her an ashy grey. She looks like death. As she passes me, our eyes meet and I can almost hear her thought.

 _You did this to me._ I stare at her as she crams into the elevator with the other miners and watch it descend into the mine.  
When earth shakes beneath my feet and the mine collapses, I jolt awake. 

“Effie?” I call out to the silence around me, needing to know the dream wasn’t real. I realize I’m still on Effie’s couch, a soft, warm blanket draped over me. The sun is bright beyond the windows and at mid-zenith in the sky. As I look around, I spot a note on the coffee table written in Effie’s loopy script. 

_Haymitch,  
Please forgive me.  
Effie_

Next to her signature is a pink lip print where she’s kissed the paper.

I fold up the letter and put it in a pocket on my jumpsuit before I get off the couch, my angst replaced with annoyance that she didn’t bother waking me before she left. The clock on the wall reads 10:06, so I’m sure the meetings are well under way. If I hurry, maybe I won’t miss too much.

On the cab ride to the mansion, I think about last night’s argument. I guess we both know exactly what to say to really wound one another, but Effie’s comments about Capitol people not knowing better is just bullshit. It’s an excuse, and I’m done listening to excuses, especially from people who _do_ know better.

Just as I suspect, the meeting is in progress and I can hear the heated debate even before I reach the door. All eyes look to me as I enter, and I take note of every face, purposefully skipping Effie’s. Peeta has joined the meeting this morning and I noticed there’s an empty seat next to him.

“Don’t stop talking on my account.” I quip as I circle around the table and take the chair.

“Glad you could find it in yourself to wake up and join us, Haymitch.” Plutarch says snidely. 

“I just missed seeing your smiling face, sweetheart.”

The comment has the intended reaction as Plutarch’s face turns purple in anger and the others in the room snicker behind their hands. “As I was saying,” he growls, glaring at me before launching into what he feels should be top priority in the effort. No surprise, it has more to do with filming progress than actually making any.

“Don’t you think we ought to do something about the fact that trains have stopped bringing supplies to the Capitol?” I interrupt, my haunting dream still weighing heavily on my mind. “Most of the people here have no food in their cupboards.”

“I assure you, we are working on that, Haymitch.” Coin tells me. “It hasn’t been easy getting cooperation from the Districts.”

“You’re sending teams in to restore order, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, unless the rebels are rebelling against the rebellion—“

“Are you volunteering?” Plutarch cuts me off.

“For what?”

“To go into the districts to organize a relief effort.”

“No, I’m just saying—“

“Then shut up.” 

“Gentlemen, please.” Coin cuts in. “We have a lot of work ahead of us. I think, perhaps, there are simply too many hands in the pot on this project. Haymitch, you seem interested in leading the relief effort, why don’t you take over that task force? Plutarch, you can send film crews into the district and we’ll continue to film the propos. The meeting regarding the restructuring of Panem is now limited to myself and the heads of each district.”

Johanna and I simultaneously voice our dissent at being dismissed from the meeting, but it’s Paylor who shuts us up. “I’m afraid I do agree with President Coin on this one. We might be able to accomplish more with a smaller group.”

Johanna, Peeta and I rise from the table and I shoot daggers at Plutarch as I head for the door. As I pass through the threshold, I hear Effie’s voice trailing behind me.

“May I suggest we take a small break to regroup? Five…ten minutes?”

“Excellent idea, Miss Trinket. Let’s take ten minutes and reconvene.”

I realized I’ve stopped outside the door, knowing Effie’s going to want to talk to me. Johanna and Peeta have also stopped, obviously waiting on me. “Go on, I’ll catch up.”

Johanna rolls her eyes, but the two of them move down the hall. Plutarch and Paylor are the first out the door, followed by Coin, the two mayors I don’t know, and finally Effie. Not wanting to argue within earshot of the others, I grab Effie’s wrist and drag her in the opposite direction than everyone else.

“Haymitch!” She hisses in protest, having to take small, quick steps in her ridiculous heels to keep up with me so I don’t pull her out of them. She yanks her hand out of mine at the same second I let go and has to over-correct before she falls backwards. She’s giving me a cross look as she folds her arms over her chest. The green and gold eye shadow matches both her dress and wig today and I quietly seethe at the fact that she still chooses to dress like a goddamn Capitol Clown.

“Thanks for waking me up this morning, sweetheart. I really appreciate that.”

“I _tried_ to wake you up.” She says hotly. “Is it my fault you sleep like the dead? Besides, maybe you wouldn’t have slept in so late if you hadn’t been up plotting revenge.”

Effie sticks her nose in the air condescendingly as she turns her head away from me. Her words bring back the last part of my dream where I’d watched her descend down into the mine before it collapsed and I feel the fight drain out of me, my shoulders sagging under the weight of my own remorse.

“I’m sorry.” Is all I can say. Effie looks back at me, hearing the sincerity in my voice and I feel I owe her an explanation. “I ended up dreaming about it. About what it would be like if what I’d said actually happened. You were right, it was a heinous thought, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.” She says quietly. “I didn’t mean what I said to you, Haymitch. It was a dreadful thing to say. I was just so angry with you.”

“Seems like all we’re good at is driving each other crazy.” I tease, humorlessly.

“I’d like to think there’s more to it than that.” Effie murmurs, stepping closer to me as she runs her hands up my chest. “We may have our disagreements, but we also have some fun together, don’t we?”

I can’t stop the smirk that pulls at the corners of my mouth. “Depends on the type of fun you’re referring to.” I let my eyes roam her body, my hands encircling her waist, and she swats me playfully. I can tell she’s blushing beneath her makeup.

Her face turns serious after a moment, but she hasn’t moved from our intimate position. “Thank you for keeping your promise last night.”

“Just remember that next time I do something that pisses you off.”

She smiles despite herself, then pulls out of my arms and straightens herself. “Well, I suppose I’d better get back to the meeting. I must say, I’m quite glad the committee has shrunk by a few hotheads.” She looks at me pointedly. “My hand was beginning to cramp from trying to keep up with all the arguing.”

I grin, still taking sick pleasure from her discomfort, and earn another smack from her before she turns and walks away with her head held high. I laugh to myself, then venture off to find the other Tributes.

It doesn’t take long to find my counterparts, who have wandered into the dining room and are helping themselves to the brunch buffet that’s been put out. Enobaria, Annie and Beetee are also here, with plates full of food. I don’t know why I’m surprised that the President’s mansion would be seeing no shortage of food—and appears to still have an abundance of—and I make a mental note to start on the relief effort as soon as I’ve eaten.

“So…” Johanna says with a smirk. “Word is you’re staying with Effie Trinket, Haymitch.”

“Yeah.” I say neutrally. “So?” 

“So you two got a thing going?” Enobaria pipes in.

“We’re just friends.”

She and Johanna both offer a disbelieving, “Mmhmm.” 

Even Peeta looks skeptical.

“Look, Effie’s been through a lot. She just needs someone around right now to help her get through it.”

“I’ll bet she does.” Johanna snickers.

I sigh in annoyance.

“Oh, come on, Haymitch.” Enobaria argues. “You couldn’t stand the woman when she was 12’s escort. You tried to shake her off anytime she was around.”

“She has a point, Haymitch.” Peeta says, poking his fork in Enobaria’s direction. “When Katniss and I first met you, you two were always at each other’s throats.”

“I don’t argue with that,” I tell them, shaking some salt over my potatoes. “There was a time when I would have loved to throttle her—still do, sometimes—but Effie’s not the same person she was a few years ago.”

Johanna snorts into her soup. “You wouldn’t know it by the way she still dresses. I hope Coin bans that shit.”

“We can’t expect attitudes to change overnight.” Beetee says with a reasonable tone. 

Johanna rolls her eyes. “So, exactly what kind of ‘help’ are you giving her, Haymitch?”

“Her parents were killed in the attack on the Capitol, and—what else? Oh, right, she spent the better part of a year imprisoned by Snow’s goons, getting the shit beat out of her even though she knew nothing of the rebellion.” I tell her matter-of-factly.

Johanna gives me a contrite look. “Oh.”

My own expression is mocking, “Yeah, ‘oh.’” 

Nearly everyone in this room besides Beetee and me has spent time imprisoned by the Capitol, and it infuriates me that they’ve so easily forgotten Effie was too. There’s a moment of tense silence as no one knows quiet how to follow that, then Peeta softly clears his throat.

“Is she okay?”

“Relatively speaking.” I say. It’s not my place to discuss the details of Effie’s suffering, so I simply tell them, “There are good days and bad days, just like there are for all of you.”

Another silence reigns before Annie speaks for the first time since I saw her yesterday. “You should get married.”

We collectively choke on our various foods, all eyes darting to Annie, who has her feet pulled up on the edge of the chair and is holding a lock of hair between her fingers, examining it closely. She looks up as she realizes people are looking at her.

“Weddings make people happy.” She tells us simply, then looks at me with a strange expression. “You want her to be happy, don’t you, Haymitch?”

“Of course I do, sweetheart. But marriage is for people who love each other.” I force myself not to add ‘Like you and Finnick.’

“Yes.” She says in agreement, failing to see my point.

I can feel my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water and Johanna roars with laughter. “You should see your face!”

My eyes narrow at her and she gives me a defiant smile.

“I’m with Annie, you _should_ get married. It’s what people do when they’re in looOOoove.” She mocks me like a child.

“I’m not in love with her, you stupid little—“

“Hay-mitch and Ef-fie sit-ting in-a-tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” Johanna starts to sing in that same child-like tone. Enobaria joins in on the chorus and I slam my fist down on the table, making the dishes rattle.

Too irritated and annoyed to even speak, I can only glare in response to the cacophony of immature laughter. Peeta’s diplomatic request for them to leave me alone hardly takes the edge off.

Why can’t people just mind their own business? Even if I did love Effie, I certainly wouldn’t marry her. It would give her the wrong idea about what I want in life. She’d start wanting kids, and a nice home, and god knows what else. Besides, where would we live? Here in the Capitol? Back in District 12? Neither of us would be happy in the other’s world and I have no desire to live anywhere else. Not until everything’s been restructured, at least. And…why am I even bothering with this line of thought anyways? 

“Does she wear that stupid wig when you do it, Haymitch?” Johanna chortles.

Enobaria’s still laughing too. “Does she talk dirty to you with that stupid accent? ‘ooH, HaymitCH, I quite like it when you—‘”

I spear a potato on the end of my fork as she mimics the annoying Capitol inflection, and flick it at Enobaria. It hits her right between the eyes and immediately shuts her up as she gapes at me. In the blink of an eye, the dining room erupts into a battlefield as food starts flying across the table. Beetee and Peeta both hit the deck, but Enobaria and Johanna have no problem teaming up on me and pelting me with anything that has some heft to it, or at least some distance. Sweet rolls, bread, potatoes, even peas are hurled my way and I use my plate as a deflector and shield as I crouch down behind the table. I take their ammo as my own, launching it back at them as we laugh almost hysterically.

Peeta and Beetee are pleading for a ceasefire from beneath the table and Annie is still sitting in her chair, taking turns cheering both sides on. We must be causing quite the ruckus because, before long, Effie appears in the doorway with her hands on her hips. 

“What is the meaning of this!?” She cries out, horrified at the mess around her, and even more horrified to find that I’m a part of the chaos. Before anyone can answer, Annie’s scooped up a spoonful of mashed potatoes and slingshots it right in Effie’s face. The room explodes into laughter and I double over on the floor at the look of appalled shock on her face.

“Well.” She says tartly, wiping the mess away indignantly. “I hope you are all _very_ pleased with yourselves. Your fun and games are interrupting the meeting. I have never seen such disregard for manners in my entire life.”

Though still laughing, we’ve managed to contain it to snickers and quiet guffaws. Effie’s gaze falls on me. “For someone in charge of a relief effort for _food_ , I must say I’m disappointed, Haymitch. I thought the saying in your district was ‘waste not, want not.’”  
I can tell Effie thinks she’s gone too far with that last quip, but this time I can’t be angry with her for it, because she’s right. Even Johanna and Enobaria have the decency to look ashamed.

“We’ll clean it up.” Enobaria offers.

“Even though Haymitch started it.” Johanna grumbles.

Effie puts her hands back on her hips as she gives me an exasperated look. 

“I’ll clean it up,” I say, relenting under the intensity of her gaze.

“See that you do.” She snaps, then turns on her heel and stomps away.

Enobaria sniggers across the table. “Man, you are so whipped. I never thought I’d see the day when Haymitch Abernathy would back down to a woman.”

“Well, he’s given up his liquid courage,” Johanna says as she starts picking up discarded food from the floor and piling it on a plate. “Who knew he was so spineless without it.”

“Do you two ever shut up?” I ask, tired of listening to their crap.

“Awfully defensive for someone who’s got nothing going on with her, Haym.” Enobaria says challengingly.

“I’m not defensive,” I grumble, avoiding her gaze as I start cleaning up the mess around me. “I’m just waiting for something intelligent to come out of your mouth.”

We pass insults and belittling remarks back and forth as we clean up the dining room—Peeta, Beetee and Annie sitting by and eating their meal as if we don’t exist. 

“You know, Haymitch,” Johanna says offhandedly. “You could do a lot worse than Effie Trinket.”

I look at her, waiting for her to continue. She can barely contain her mirth.

“I hear Coin’s single.”

Johanna and Enobaria fall together laughing again and I just roll my eyes, walking out of the (mostly) clean dining room. Women…can’t live with them, and it would send the wrong message to kill them in the middle of a ceasefire. 

I find my way to one of the smaller offices, and start making calls to get the ball rolling on the relief effort. I start with District 5: Power. Power needs to be restored to all of Panem. Parts of the Capitol are still without power and heat, and without power there can be no refrigeration for perishable foods. Restoring the power, will at least allow people to use some of the replicator machines until other food stocks arrive.

It takes a bit of bargaining, of course, to convince the commander of five to relent, but in the end he’s agreeable and it only costs me about 2 dozen more men. I’ll worry about where to get the men later. 

Next I call up District Six: Transportation. I need trains to transport goods around Panem to the Capitol. Luckily, this costs me nothing and they seem eager to help in the effort.

My last calls are to Districts 9 and 10, Grain and Livestock. I spend several grueling hours on the phone trying to negotiate with these districts, but—even though the rebels are in control—they’re reluctant to help the Capitol. When nothing seems to be working, I finally lie and tell them that Coin has ordered their cooperation. Since most of the soldiers are hers, they don’t question the order and finally give in.

As I’m making the last of the arrangements for shipment to the Capitol, Effie comes in, closing the door behind her and seats herself next to me on the desktop, watching me work. She looks tired, and I feel tired, so I know it’s been a long day for both of us. I hang up the phone and slouch back in the chair with a weary sigh.

“I think you could sell ice in winter, Haymitch.” She smiles, sounding somewhat proud.

“I have a favor to ask,” I say, reaching out for her hand and gently pulling her towards me until she gets up from the desk and sits crossways on my lap. She pushes my mused hair away from my face, still smiling. 

“Anything.”

“I need two dozen soldiers sent out to District 5.”

“Two dozen?! Where on earth do you expecting me to find two dozen soldiers?”

“I don’t expect you to find them, sweetheart. I expect you to ask Coin to find them. Tell her it’s non-negotiable. And tell her she’s welcome.”

Effie tsks lightly, but agrees. “Alright. I’ll pass it on to her.”

“What time is it anyways?”

“After six.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.” Her tone is hard, and I snort in laughter knowing she’s still annoyed from the earlier food fight. “What was all of that about anyways? You were acting like complete heathens!”

“Just a little stress relief.” I answer, not wanting to explain.

“Hardly appropriate, Haymitch.”

I laugh again and she narrows her eyes at me.

“Do you plan to sit here and laugh all night, or would you care to go home?”

“Let me call Katniss first. I told her I’d keep her up to date on everything.”

Effie presses a kiss to my forehead and slips out of my lap. “I’ll wait for you outside. I could use a little fresh air anyways.”

Katniss is eager for the news I relay to her, asking again what she can do and—as usual—annoyed when I tell her to heal up. I can’t resist telling her about the food fight and how Annie had gob smacked Effie with a spoonful of mashed potatoes. Katniss falls to pieces on the other end of the line and it takes her several minutes to recover.

“You should probably do something nice for her to make it up to her, Haymitch.” She says, her voice still shaking with laughter.

“Yeah, probably.” I can’t help but smile.

“How’s Peeta?”

We talk for a few minutes on how Peeta seems to be doing, then move on to what we think Coin and the others are talking about in their meeting. I promise to try and get Effie to tell me, but know that if Effie’s been sworn to secrecy, she won’t budge on even a slight hint. Katniss makes me swear to call again tomorrow, then we say goodnight and hang up the phone.

As I’m leaving to find Effie, I’m drawn back to the dining room where a delicious aroma is emanating. No one else is in the room, but another banquet has been set out for us. I know that Effie had said she wasn’t hungry, but I’m certain she will be later and I won’t deign to eat another can of sardines if I can help it. There’s a sizeable bowl of stew—enough to feed several people—and I check to see that the coast is clear before I put the lid on it and pick up the entire pot before sneaking outside with it. 

Effie is sitting on the front steps, rubbing the back of her neck and looks back at me as I come up behind her. “Rea—Haymitch, what is that?”

“Dinner. Let’s go.” I say as I hurry down the steps.

“You stole that, didn’t you?” She gasps, appalled. 

“Look, sweetheart, maybe cat food is enough for you, but I need something a little heartier.”

Effie pauses, looking affronted, before hurrying to catch up with me again. “Well…you could have at least taken some bread as well.”

I nearly spill the pot as I throw my head back and laugh and we walk to the point where we can hail a cab back to her apartment. Though we’re quiet on the cab ride there, it’s a companionable silence and I balance the pot on my lap with one hand as I reach over and touch her knee. She smiles and moves a little closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder, and—even with the stupid curls of her wig in my face—I find that I like being close to Effie like this.

\--

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t know if I’m ever going to get used to this.” Effie says as she sits down on the couch and pulls the wig off her head. She’s rubbing her neck again.

“Get used to what?” I ask, setting the pot of stew on the tabletop.

“Being the President’s personal assistant. I’m not sure I worked this hard even when I was trying to keep you, Katniss and Peeta in line during the Victory Tour, and that was hard work.” She wines a little. “My head hurts, my neck hurts, my hands hurt…oh, everything hurts!”

I laugh silently at her, but pull a kitchen chair out with my foot. “Come here, you little wretch.”

Effie glares at me for a only a moment before she pushes herself up and wobbles over to me on her heels. “Oh…even my feet hurt.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” I ask as I look pointedly at the deadly spikes she’s been prancing around in all day.

“Hush,” she says, smacking my arm before plopping into the chair in front of me in a very unEffie-like display. “You simply don’t know good fashion, Haymitch.”

“I know fashion shouldn’t be painful.” I remark as I begin to massage her shoulders. Effie groans and lulls her head forward. I take my time working out the knots over her shoulder blades and rubbing the soreness out of her neck, before placing my fingertips at her temples and bringing her head upright again and easing the tension in her head by applying slight pressure at her temples and just over the brow, moving my fingers in small circles and massaging her entire scalp.

“That feels so good.” She tells me, almost sounding like I’m either putting her in a trance or putting her to sleep. I move back down along her neck and shoulders, then work my fingers down to her hand. She looks up at me with a slight smirk. “You’re quite good at this, you know.”

“Don’t get used to it,” I snort. “I only have so much niceness in me, and you’re reaching the end of your quota.”

“What happens when I use up my quota?” She’s trying not to smirk.

“I become an unbearable asshole.”

“How will I know?”

I laugh and give her hand a gentle squeeze before picking up the other one and working my fingers over her joints and tendons carefully. “If I asked you to fill me in on what was said at the meeting, would you?”

“Well, that all depends.”

“On?”

“If you’ll tell me what started the Battle of the Buffett.”

I laugh loudly. “Oh, that’s easy. I started it.”

She rolls her eyes. “I meant _why_ , Haymitch.”

“Ehh…” I hesitate a minute, still not wanting to admit they were razzing me about Effie, and definitely not wanting to put any ideas of love or marriage in her head. I suppose if I want to know what happened in the meeting with Coin, I’m going to have to tell her something. “Rumor got around that I’ve been staying here and Johanna and Enobaria were giving me a hard time about it.”

“How so?”

I think about Enobaria’s impression of Effie talking dirty, and quietly laugh. “You really don’t want to know, honey.”

She looks like she’s about to argue so I chuck her lightly under the chin with my finger. “Go wash your stupid face.”

Effie gasps, her mouth gaping open at my comment, but I move over to the cupboards and start pulling down 3 bowls before Effie can say anything else. As I grab a serving spoon and start portioning out the stew between the bowls, Effie huffs and gets up, heading down the hallway to presumably do as I’ve said. I can’t help but grin triumphantly, still loving to get a dig in at her anywhere I can. I set one of the bowls down on the floor near Princess’ water dish, where she’s eagerly waiting for her supper, and she’s on it before I can even snatch my hand back.

“Enjoy, you ungrateful fiend.” I mutter as I return to the cupboards to find two water glasses and fill them up.

It takes Effie nearly 10 minutes before she returns to the table—a clean face, her hair brushed out into glossy strawberry blonde waves, and wrapped in the same robe she was wearing last night. She still has a peevish expression, her chin slightly lifted as if she plans on not speaking to me for the rest of the night, but I pull her into my arms and kiss her sweetly, enjoying the feel of her satiny lipstick-free lips on mine. 

“Much better.” I murmur with a smirk.

Effie tries to look put out as she rolls her eyes and sits at the table, but I can see the soft blush staining her cheeks and it gives her away. I decide to ignore her attempt at indifference and add a dash of salt to my stew, launching into an entirely unrelated topic.

“Are any of your neighbors male, by chance? Possibly about my size?”

As expected, she looks at me with confusion. “I suppose one or two of them could be, why?”

“Because I’d like to have a few wardrobe options other than District 13’s unfashionable gray atrocities.”

This makes her laugh. “There’s a married couple a few doors down. The husband is probably fairly similar to your build. Perhaps he might lend you a few pairs of pants and shirts.”

I decide I’ll wait until after we eat to go down and ask, and as I take my first bite of stew, Effie needles me about the details of what Johanna and Enobaria had said. “Why do you want to know so much?”

“Well, if they’re spreading rumors about me, I’d like to know what they are.”

“I told you, they were just giving me a hard time about staying with you.”

“Why won’t you just tell me what they said, Haymitch? If it inspired a food fight, it was obviously appalling.” 

I look at her, annoyed. “Alright, but you asked, sweetheart.” I warn before giving her a play-by-play of the entire conversation, up to and including their cutesy song. By the time I get to the part where I’d finally left the room, Effie’s back has straightened and her lips are pursed priggishly.

“I certainly sound nothing like that when I speak.” Is her only comment, referring to my imitation of Enobaria’s impression.  
I raise my brows at her, amused that out of everything that was said, this is what she’s chosen to focus on.

Effie dips her spoon into the stew almost disinterestedly. “Besides, I’d like to think I’m better at it than that.”

I stare at her, transfixed, hoping for a little taste, but Effie just glances up at me from under her lashes with a playful smile. “That’s entirely unfair. You can’t say something like that and then not follow up with a preview.”

She dabs at her mouth with a napkin. “Oh? Can’t I?”

“Minx.” I mutter, then look at her curiously. “Exactly how many men have you been with, Effie, that you would consider yourself an expert at talking dirty?”

“A lady does _not_ kiss and tell, Haymitch.” She says, then quips, “And I never said I was an expert.”

I give her an incredulous look. “Don’t make me insult you again by guessing numbers.”

“Fine.” She sets her spoon down and sits back defiantly. “I’ll tell you how many lovers I’ve had, if you tell me the same.”

“Deal.”

“You first.” She says in the next second.

“Goddamnit…” 

She laughs softly but waits, looking at me expectantly.

“Not _that_ many.” I say, rubbing the back of my neck as I feel my ears starting to burn. “Alcohol was my vice, remember?”

“Haymitch Abernathy, are you blushing?” She asks with a smirk of intrigue. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush.”

I glare at her. “So, come on…your turn.”

“You didn’t tell me how many women you’ve been with. ‘Not that many’ isn’t a figure; I want an exact number, Haymitch.”

I sigh. “Not counting you…I think four. Mica was my first, just after I won the Quell…just before…” I feel myself choke on the words and Effie reaches across the table, placing her hand on mine. “Just before they killed her. The other girls lived here in the Capitol. I would see some of them a couple of times during the Games, but I haven’t done that in a _long_ time.”

She regards me coolly for a minute, seemingly to discern if I’m telling the truth, then must decide that I have no reason to lie. Finally, she admits, “Not counting you, I’ve been with two men. Both previous boyfriends.”

“What happened to them?” I’m surprised to find myself genuinely curious.

“My first boyfriend left me for another woman. My second boyfriend…well, he was sweet, but I couldn’t imagine being with him for the rest of my life.”

I can’t help but ask, “So, which one of us is the best in the sack?”

Effie looks at me reproachfully. “I don’t lie around afterwards critiquing anyone on their techniques.”

“No, but that doesn’t mean you don’t know who was better.”

“I’ve enjoyed all the experiences.”

“Who hasn’t?” I slurp stew off my spoon, still waiting for an answer.

“Each of you has your strengths…” She says, still trying to dodge the question.

“Effie.”

“Ugh!” Her fingers curl into claws, hands straining as if she’s ready to wrap them around my neck and throttle me. “ _YOU_ , alright? You’ve been the best I’ve been with thus far.”

I ignore that last part. “Are you just saying that to shut me up?”

“If I was, it obviously failed.” She glares.

I grin at her, making her tsk and roll her eyes in annoyance. “I think I’d have to say you’ve been the best for me, too. Don’t get me wrong, it was really good with Mica, but we were inexperienced and I felt like I mostly fumbled my way through it. Most of the other experiences, I was too drunk to remember the next day, or didn’t care enough to really think about it later. They were just there to serve a purpose and once they fulfilled that purpose, they became obsolete.”

“That’s vulgar, Haymitch.”

“That’s life, sweetheart.”

Effie pokes at a lump of meat in her stew before she quietly asks, “Was Mica the only girl you ever loved?”

I don’t answer her for a several moments as that well of emotion opens up around my heart, making me feel sick with grief over the girl I lost so long ago. “Yes…she was.”

“I’m sorry.” Effie murmurs.

Knowing this is a dangerous topic, I’m eager to get off of it. “You were right… I should have pinched some rolls to go with this stew.”

Understanding my discomfort, Effie graciously changes the subject without comment—a first for her. “Coin thinks it best to begin restructuring slowly. She thinks if we bring down all the barriers around the districts that total anarchy will ensue. The problem is determining the order of ‘freeing’ the districts—for lack of a better term.”

“So, what…? Does she have conditions districts have to meet before she’ll free them?”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose. She’s more apt to consider districts that gave no resistance to her leadership or joining the rebellion. Mayor Spinel thinks that she should follow a numerical order.”

“I’m guessing he’s the mayor from District 1.”

“You would be guessing right.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I grunt.

“I don’t see how we’ll ever reach a consensus on what’s best for Panem. We all come from different places with different opinions, all thinking our homes are the most important and should receive priority. You’re the only one who’s done any good so far, Haymitch. The only one with the health and well being of the people as your priority.” Effie rants.

“I have to credit some of that to you,” I say somewhat grudgingly. “After what I said…and that stupid dream…I realized I was thinking as backwards as everyone else.”

Effie continues to poke at her stew distractedly. “I can’t say as I really blame you for your thoughts. There have been times when I, too, have thought of vengeance towards my oppressors.”

A brief silence passes between us as I quietly reflect on her confession. “So, what else did Coin say today?”

“That was the gist of the entire afternoon.”

I find it irritating that I did seem to accomplish more in a few hours than Coin has in a couple of days and tell Effie as much.

“Yes, well, you’ve had a bit more experience trying to bargain with people and make deals.” I realize she’s referring to my helping tributes get sponsors.

“I thought you said I was a lousy mentor.”

“I never used those words.” She shakes an argumentative finger at me. “I said you were too drunk.”

I guffaw, and we both laugh as the mood lightens again.

Finally, finished with my stew, I wipe my mouth with my napkin. “So where do these neighbors of yours live? Let’s see how well I can bargain with them to lend me some clothes.”

“I’ll come with you. I’m friendly with Mereana, so they might be more willing to talk to you if I’m there.”

I don’t disagree and wait for Effie to wash and put away the dishes before I follow her down the hall of her apartment building. She knocks on the door, calling out just loud enough to be heard.

“Mere, darling, it’s Effie. Are you in?”

I snort in laughter. “Is she in? Where else is she going to be, sweetheart?”

The door swings open and a dark-haired woman is embracing Effie before I can even blink. “Dearest, sweet Effie! We’ve been so terribly worried for you! How are you, my love?”

“I must admit, I’ve seen finer days, but I’m doing better now. And you? Your family? Ari?”

“We’re all alright. Both our parents have come to stay with us for a time. Did you know the southern side of the city is still without power?” The woman looks at me for the first time, seeming to just realize I’m standing there. “Oh. Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Mereana, this is Haymitch Abernathy, a friend of mine from District 12.”

“Oh, yes, I see." She looks as though she's suddenly placed my name and face. "I’m pleased to meet you, Haymitch.”

“Likewise.” I take Mereana’s proffered hand and kiss it politely, as is the expected custom of Capitol folk.

“Come in, won’t you?”

“Thank you.” Effie says for both of us.

“What brings you here this evening, dearest?” Mereana asks of Effie.

“I have a favor to ask of you. Well, of Ari, really.”

“Name it, sweetling.”

“Most of Haymitch’s possessions are…” Effie trails off, uncertainly.

“Elsewhere.” I finish for her, not wanting to explain that damn near all of my clothes are still back in District 12, and anything I’d had with me before the day of the rebellion was pretty much lost.

“Do you think Ari would mind lending Haymitch a few things to wear?”

“Of course not!” Mereana beams, then calls out in a shrill voice. “Ari, dear!”

A man with long, purple hair appears from down the hallway. Effie was right, we are just about the same height and build, though he’s a couple of inches taller. He smiles warmly at Effie, picking up her hand and kissing the backs of her fingers.

“Effie, so good to see you.”

“You as well, Ari. I’m pleased to know you’re all alright.” She motions to me. “This is my dear friend, Haymitch.”

Ari and I shake hands as Mereana explains why we’re here. He sizes up my jumpsuit with a laugh. “I think we can do much better than this. Come, let’s see what we’ve got, shall we?”

I look at Effie, uncertain if I want to be alone with this schmuck for too long, but she motions for me to go as Mereana loops her arm in Effie’s and leads her to the couch to talk. We pass two closed doors as I follow him down the hallway. I can hear snoring coming from one room, and assume that the elders have retired for the night, even though it’s still relatively early in the evening. 

Ari leads me into the master bedroom and over to what seems like another smaller bedroom lined with curtain rods and shelves. His clothes collection. It’s even arranged by shades of color. I want to groan, but I know he’s doing me a huge favor, so I suck it up and let him pick through an array of shirts.

At least he picks out mostly darker colors—a deep purple, a ruby red, sunset orange. Some of them have stripes or patterns, but I have to admit that none of it makes me cringe. He finds several pairs of dark trousers, a few ties to coordinate with the shirts, and even two vests, folding it all neatly before placing it in my arms. He sizes me up again with a critical eye.

“Shoe size 10?”

“10, 10 and 1/2 …how did you know?”

He gives me a pompous smile. “I’m a tailor. I can guess a man’s measurements within 2 inches just by looking at him.”

“Impressive.” I say as he plucks a pair of shiny black boots from a shelf.

“What do you have in the way of underclothes, Haymitch?”

I shrug, not exactly comfortable with discussing underwear with a complete stranger. “What you see is what you get.”

He makes a face, hurrying back into his closet and pulls several pairs of undershorts from a drawer. Call me crazy, but accepting another man’s used undershorts just doesn’t feel right. Ari digs into another drawer and pulls out a pair of pajamas. I don’t have the heart to tell him I’ve never found much use for nightclothes.

“That ought to do it.” He smiles, pleased by his generosity.

“Thanks, Ari. Really, this is very kind of you.”

“Do you need a razor? Shave cream? A comb?”

I know he’s assuming I look the way I do because I haven’t had the proper grooming tools. “Oh, no, thanks. I think I’ve got everything else I’ll need.”

We walk back to the living room, where Mereana and Effie are embracing. Effie’s wiping tears from her eyes while Mereana tells her how very sorry she is and if there’s anything she can do… Effie must have told her about her parents and sister. When she sees me, she tries to smile as she pulls back from the embrace. 

“Well, we won’t keep you two any longer. Thank you so much, Ari…Mere. You have no idea how grateful we are to you.”

“Of course, darling.” Mereana sweeps her hand along Effie’s cheek before smiling up at me. “So good to meet you, Haymitch. You won’t be a stranger, will you?”

“I will do my best not to be.” I say my thanks and Effie and I quietly slip back down the hall to her apartment. When the door closes, I look at her with open concern. “You okay?”

“I told her about mother and father…and Deora.” For a moment she looks overwhelmed by the mere mention of her family, but visible shakes herself and forces a smile. “Let’s see what he’s given you.”

I hold out the pile of clothes to her, letting her take it from me and carry it down the hall to her bedroom. “I’m not wearing his underwear.” I tell her.

“Oh, Haymitch. It isn’t as if it’s dirty.” She chides me as she unfolds everything, laying it out on the neatly made bed. Seeing the pajamas, she picks them up and throws them at me, narrowly avoiding hitting me in the face. “Go and clean up. I’ll put all of this away.”

“I know how to hang clothes, Effie. I’m not a simpleton.”

“I need to do this, Haymitch.” She protests quietly, clutching one of the shirts to her chest. “I need a moment to myself.”

I know she’s going to cry, and that makes it hard for me to agree to leave her alone.

“Please.” She begs in a whisper, turning her back to me as she starts to lose her holds on the dam of emotions. I step up behind Effie, lightly touching her arm as I drop a kiss to her shoulder.

“If you need me…” I murmur against her ear, letting the sentence hang in the air.

She nods tightly, reaching back and clutching my hip in gratitude. I realize I’m holding my breath as I cross to the door and pull it closed behind me. I don’t linger. I don’t want to hear her fall apart, knowing she doesn’t want me there right now, so I dart into the bathroom, close the door and turn the shower on high as it will go. As I strip down and step under the warm spray, I examine the various products at my disposal and realize that no matter what I use, I’m going to end up smelling like Effie when I get out of the shower. I shake my head in mild annoyance before I palm a handful of floral shampoo and rub it through my hair.

Though I’m sure it’ll piss Effie off if she finds out, I use her razor to clean up my beard, knocking some of the whiskers down a little so it doesn’t get too much longer. I soap up, rinse off, and step out to dry off. Pulling on the pajama bottoms, I dig around in a drawer of the vanity to find a comb and brush through the tangles in my hair. There’s a soft knock on the bathroom door before Effie cautiously pushes it open.

“I just recalled that you have nothing to brush your teeth with. I have a spare toothbrush if you’d like to borrow it.”

“Yeah…thanks.” I say, seeing the redness of her face from her cry. She looks drained and miserable as she pulls open a drawer and fishes out the toothbrush, handing it to me. I catch her wrist before she can pull back, holding it gently until she looks up into my eyes. “Come here, sweetheart…”

Effie’s face breaks again and she starts crying as she moves into my arms, resting her cheek against my bare chest. She’s crying so hard that she has to gasp for breath between her sobs, and I lean back against the vanity, knowing it’s going to be a while before she calms herself back down. 

I rub her back soothingly, resting my chin on top of her head as I resort to shushing her like a child. Up until now, Effie hasn’t had to talk about her parents with anyone else, and I know she’s been trying very hard not to do so, even with me. 

“Do you think it was very painful?” She asks brokenly.

It takes me a second to understand what she’s asking. She wants to know if her parents suffered when they died. Considering neither of us knows the full details of what happened, I know I can’t honestly answer that, but I don’t think it’s necessarily a good idea to tell her they might have died slowly. Probably not the best way to help her through her grief.

“I hope that it was quick,” I say honestly. “I hope they didn’t even have time to know what happened.”

Effie’s arms squeeze me around the middle tightly before she pulls back a little to wipe her face. “I can’t stop thinking about what might have happened to them. I can’t stop picturing them scared and hurt…and worried.” She clutches her chest as if in physical pain, fighting against another round of crippling sobs. I cup Effie’s face and kiss her deeply, knowing that it will erase that image of her family from her mind, if but for a moment. Her cheeks are wet against mine and I can taste the salt of her tears, but she’s responding to the kiss, so I know it’s working.

“You can’t think like that,” I murmur as gently as I can, pulling back just enough to speak clearly. “You have to remember them the way they’d want to be remembered. Tell me the best memory you have of each of them.”

“I can’t.” She starts to break again and I kiss her, refusing to let the bad thoughts surface.

“Tell me about Doss.” I murmur against her lips. I start to press tender kisses along her jaw, trailing my fingers through her hair.

She makes a sound that’s halfway between the beginning of a word and a moan and presses her hands against my chest, pushing herself back. She looks dizzy as her eyes meet mine and I hold tight to her, worried she might faint. “I can’t even think when you’re doing that.”

I don’t want to make a joke of the moment, so I stay silent. Effie wipes her face again and takes a deep breath. “Tea first, I think…then I’ll…talk.”

She’s out the door before I can argue, so I turn back to the sink and wet the bristles of the toothbrush before I brush my teeth.

Effie’s warming a kettle on the stove top when I emerge from the bathroom and looks at me inquiringly. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Sure.” It seems so oddly formal all of a sudden, but I know that’s just Effie’s way of getting a handle on her emotions. I move over to the couch to wait for her, messing with a napping Princess by lightly tickling the flap behind her ear and snickering each time her ear flicks in response.

Effie hands me a cup of hot tea, batting my other hand away from the cat with a scolding, “Leave her alone, Haymitch.”

She sits down so that the cat is between us, and sips her tea for several moments before releasing a weary sigh. “My father was such a wonderful man…”

I listen to her story of Doss, how he loved to make people laugh, how he had made sure his daughters never wanted for anything, how he doted on all of them. She tells me of her mother, the social butterfly and stickler for manners and etiquette; and of her younger sister Deora who was wild and crazy even by Capitol standards, but the most loving person she knew. She shares several stories from her youth, laughing at the memories and I laugh with her as I try to picture a young Effie Trinket.

She sighs sadly. “I will miss them so very dearly.”

I reach over and hold her hand, “I know.”

She looks at me for a long moment and I see the hesitancy in her eyes. “Tell me of your family, Haymitch. Please?”

I shift uncomfortably and clear my throat. It’s been a very long time since I’ve spoken in any detail about my family, but I know that Effie needs this. “My family lived in the poorest part of District 12—the same place Katniss grew up. We call it the Seam* because of the coal that we mine there. My father was named Jet because when he was born, his eyes and hair were so black, my grandfather said he looked like a piece of jet he’d find down in the mines.”

“So your father was a coal miner.” Effie says, sounding pleased that she’s inferred this much.

“Almost everyone from the Seam is a coal miner, sweetheart. If you’re not working in the mines, you’re either too young, too old, or too crippled to swing a pickaxe. I would have become a miner too when I turned 18, if my name hadn’t been called at the Reaping.”

“What was your father like?” She presses, genuinely interested, just as I was with her.

“He was…hardworking, just like everyone else. I remember that he was very serious, and quiet. My father never spoke much, but when he did, you’d always shut up to listen to what he had to say. I guess I never really saw him much, by the time my brother and I got up for school, he was already in the mines, and most times we’d be in bed by the time he came home. He liked to whittle, though. That I remember. He taught me, which is where I learned how to handle a knife.” I pause as I really think about my father for the first time in years. “I was 12 when he died from toxic air down in the mines. My brother, Lysander, was only 8.”

“If your brother was half as mulish as you are, I can imagine the kind of hell you put your parents through.”

I laugh sadly, but shake my head. “Lysander was very much like my mother. They were both very warm and caring people, friendly to everyone, sympathetic to others’ plights even in light of our own. Sander would have given the shirt off his back, and thrown in the buttons too.”

She laughs lightly. “He sounds like a charming little boy.”

I feel my throat growing tight. “Yeah…he was.”

I don’t tell Effie how much I regret the times I spent with Lysander. I was the typical older brother—always playing pranks, never wanting him around because I thought I’d look less cool in front of my friends, relentlessly teasing him just because I could. Lysander, like my mother, had been so sensitive and easily hurt; words wounded him more than anything else. I never really wanted him to cry, but he always did, and I would always tell him he had to grow a tougher skin if he was ever going to survive in this world. How I wish I could take it all back… How I wish I’d known what would become of him and my mother.

“Will you tell me about Mica?” Effie probes in a very soft voice.

I breathe out through my nose. “Not tonight, Effie. Not tonight.”

Effie moves closer to me, dislodging Princess from her cushion with an indignant _merp_ , and tucks herself in against my side, her head resting against my shoulder. “Thank you.” She murmurs.

“For what?”

“For everything, Haymitch.”

I rest my head against hers, “How are you doing?”

“Better. I hate to say it, but you were right. I can’t think about the way they died. I’m just so sad they’re gone.”

I wrap my arm around her shoulder, stroking her arm with my fingertips. “I know, honey.”

Effie tilts her head back, looking up at me. Her eyes sparkle like sapphires under the low lighting. The bruise on her cheek has faded into a light purple smudge, the cut on her lip still healing. Oddly, I think I prefer Effie like this—flawed in both body and soul, broken and undone, imperfect and despairing. Not because I think she deserves it, but because it makes her more human, more like me. Effie’s lived her entire life on a Capitol pedestal, brainwashed into thinking herself of a higher station in life than the rest of us, untouched by the filth of reality. Now she’s been knocked down in the muck with the rest of us, and I’m just waiting for the day that she sheds her Capitol skin completely.

“Kiss me.” She pleas in a soft voice.

And I do.

Kissing her still has a heady effect on me and we’ve barely begun to deepen the kiss when I feel the flame of arousal ignite. Effie must sense this somehow because her hand travels up my thigh and covers the burgeoning bulge in my pajama pants. She moans quietly into my mouth.

“Doesn’t take much, does it?” She quips, proud of herself. I pull back from her, taking her mug from her hand and setting both our mugs on the coffee table without comment. She looks at me warily. “I don’t trust the look on your face, Haymitch.”

I try not to smirk as I turn to face her, my expression as serious as I can make it. “I’ll give you five seconds, sweetheart.”

“Five seconds for what?”

“To run.”

She looks confused, but then I start counting down. By three, Effie seems to understand and she’s nearly backpedaling away from me and off the couch, screaming “Haymitch! No!”

When I reach one, she’s not even to the hallway yet and I’m over the back of the couch and on her before she can get another step. She screams as my arms encircle her waist, dragging her down to the floor as my fingers dig in, tickling her. She’s slapping at my arms, laughing and squealing as she writhes under my torture technique. 

“Please!” She gasps, happy streaking down her face. “Oh, please stop!”

I finally relent and Effie bolts from the floor, nearly holding herself as she flies into the bathroom, and I die laughing as I realize I’ve nearly made her piss herself.

“It’s not funny, Haymitch!” She yells at me through the open bathroom doorway. The thought that she didn’t even have time to close the door just makes me laugh harder. I pull myself together, getting up off the floor, as I hear the toilet flush, and move to lean against the door frame as Effie washes her hands. She’s blushing a deep crimson now and I burst into laughter again.

Effie glares at me and crosses her arms. “Don’t think I won’t make you sleep on the couch again, Haymitch.”

I bear down on her, pulling her back into my arms. “You wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

“Try me.” She’s trying to pretend to be annoyed, but I see the truth in her eyes.

I smirk. “I think I already have…but I intend to do it again.”

I lift Effie by her slender waist and sit her on the vanity, moving in between her legs as I assault her lips with mine. Her legs wrap around me, drawing me in even closer as her hands lock behind my head. Our tongues vie for dominance, teeth bumping. It’s a messy, hot, wet, sexy kiss that leaves us both breathless and aching. 

“Take me, Haymitch.” She gasps breathily, placing her hands behind her against the vanity and arching her back as if she’s presenting herself to me. I untie the belt of her robe and slip it off her shoulders, pressing my lips against the hollow of her throat as I gently pull her hips forward, trying to urge her off the vanity.

She makes a sound of protest, squeezing me tighter with her legs, but I kiss my way up to her ear, grazing the lobe with my teeth. “Stand up and turn around.” I growl in a low voice. Brushing my lips against her neck and down the line of her shoulder. “I want you to watch me fuck you.”

I can feel the shiver of arousal that prickles her flesh, and this time when I step back, she lets me and slips off the vanity. I kiss her deeply, then slowly turn her around so that we’re both facing the mirror. Effie doesn’t need prompting. She places her hands on the edge of the vanity, folding herself in the middle so that she’s on display to me. Her eyes are locked on me in the mirror. 

I drink her in hungrily, giving myself a moment to appreciate Effie in all her glory. Up until now, I’d only seen bits of her exposed to me at various times, but never the complete picture and my mouth runs dry. Effie seems amused by my scrutiny and I hear her drum her nails on the vanity, letting me know she’s still waiting.

I meet her eyes in the mirror. “Patience, sweetheart. I’m admiring the view.”

Effie rolls her eyes, but the blush on her cheeks betrays her. I smirk as I step up and press myself against her, leaning down to press my lips at the top of her spine.

“Now I see why you wear so much crap on your face,” I say as I push my pajama pants down my hips and place my hands next to hers on the vanity, pressing my chest against her back as I drop my chin against her shoulder, my head against hers, my eyes boring into hers in the mirror. “You blush too easily, sweetheart.”

Effie doesn’t seem able to respond, so I seize that moment to turn my head, nudging her hair out of the way with my nose so that I can passionately kiss her neck. Starting at her wrists, my hands run up her arms, over her shoulders, down her sides, over her hips to the tops of her thighs, then back up over her belly until her breasts are resting in my palms. I knead them, rolling her nipples between my fingers, and work my lips across her shoulder. I peek up to the mirror to see that Effie’s eyes have closed, her mouth openly slightly as she sighs in pleasure.

“Look at me,” I murmur against her as I lift my head again. Effie opens her eyes, watching me play with her breasts in the mirror before I slide one hand back down in between her legs. She’s so wet that I can hear the slickness as my fingers part her labia, slipping between them to find her clit. Effie’s eyes start to close again, but she snaps them open, licking her lips as she holds my gaze. I can read the expression on her face, her silent plea. 

_Fuck me._

I release her other breast, dropping my hand down to hold her hip as I grasp my dick and position myself at her entrance. Neither of us can break our gaze until I enter her. Her head drops forward a little with a moan, her eyes closing as I feel her press back against me. I let her have that moment as I set out a smooth tempo and wait until her eyes meet mine again before I pick up the pace. From this vantage point, I can see everything and the 360 view is astounding. Her breasts are swaying from our rhythm, her hair falling into her face. She looks and feels so good that I almost can’t stand it. I have to break eye contact, dropping my face against her neck as one hand grips her hip for leverage, and my other hand slides back down next to hers to brace myself on the vanity. Her hand covers mine, fingers locking between mine, squeezing tightly.

“Don’t look away.” She breaths. I groan but raise my head. Effie’s entranced by the sheer eroticism of our coupling, unable to even blink.

It doesn’t take long for me to feel that familiar pull in my groin, signaling my impending release and I thrust deeply into Effie. “I can’t last much longer,” I groan against her ear.

“I want to watch you cum.” She tells me.

I give her a hard look in the mirror, and she laughs softly as she reads the thoughts in my mind.

“Don’t worry, Haymitch…I have a pill to take care of _that_.”

I feel hesitant, but I’m too close and she feels so good and I—don’t even have time to consider it even further as my orgasm hits. I clutch her, pumping myself into her with reckless abandon and spilling my seed deep inside of her. I’m muttering her name along with a string of profanities, closing my eyes as my vision fades to black and lights explode in the darkness. I feel like I cum and cum and cum for hours, though I know in the grand scheme of things it’s probably only a handful of seconds, but by the time I’m done I almost lose my balance and have to brace myself on the vanity with both hands, trapping her under me as I lean heavily against her, my head resting on her back.

She lets me collect myself before she finally pushes back against me, making me shift my weight off of her and turns to face me, slipping my dick out of her at the same time. Effie leans against the vanity as she cups my face and kisses me deeply. I don’t let her protest as I break away from the kiss, dropping down to my knees and immediately start attacking her clit with my mouth as my fingers slip inside of her.

Effie shrieks out a little in surprise, gripping the edge of the vanity and slides one leg over my shoulder. I know it won’t take long for her to peak, so I go at her with fervor, wanting her orgasm to be as intense as mine.

I’m not disappointed. She throws her head back, crying out, and rides my face as she cums. Her entire body is shaking from the force of her orgasm, and she’s taking short, gaspy breaths as her release fills my mouth. Once again, I continue my oral assault on her, until she literally pushes my face away.

Effie’s legs give out on her and she sinks down, straddling my lap as she lays her head on my shoulder in recover. I hold her, stroking every inch of her body and feeling it twitch when I run across a sensitive area. When she’s regained her senses, she lifts her head and kisses me sweetly, brushing her nose lightly against mine.

“Ready for round two?”

My face must reflect my horror, because Effie throws her head back and laughs before pushing herself to her feet and retrieving her robe. I stand up, leaving my pajamas on the floor as I swoop in from behind, wrapping my arms around her waist and kissing her neck. 

“Minx.”

She smirks. “Swine.”

We’re both still laughing as we climb into her bed, completely exhausted.

\--

TBC

In geology, the “Seam” refers to a stratum of coal or mineral that is economically viable.

Jet - Jet is a compact black variety of lignite (lignite is sometimes referred to as brown coal because it has a brown streak -- i.e., powdered lignite is brown). Although jet is usually characterized, quite properly, as dense and homogeneous, much of it exhibits a woody structure, which manifests its derivation from conifers. The phrase “jet-black” originated from this.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I am changing the order of the events in the book. Liberties!!

By the end of the first week of our taking over the capitol, life has been somewhat restored to normal in Panem. Trains have been arriving regularly with food and other supplies, most of the Capitol streets that were destroyed in Katniss’ wake have been cleared, and power has been restored to all homes. Repairs have begun on the buildings that were also damaged in the attacks, but many of the refugees have been able to return to their homes, easing the pressure on the temporary shelters. 

I don’t see Effie much during the days as she shadows Coin, but at night when we return to her apartment she fills me in on whatever news she has. Order in the districts has been mostly restored, with only a little resistance still showing in District 2. Clean up efforts have begun, but the slow progress had led Coin to the decision that the Districts are not ready for full freedom. That doesn’t still well with anyone.

“Coin’s going to end up with a lot of enemies before she even officially takes office.” I tell Effie as I massage her feet.

She looks at me from across the couch. “She’s already taken the office, Haymitch. Panem has a new dictator, whether they realize it or not.”

I can hear the quiet anger in her voice and huff in agreement. “Letting her take over the rebellion was a bad idea.”

“Why didn’t _you_ lead the rebellion, Haymitch?”

I laugh loudly at that. “Me? You can’t be serious, sweetheart.”

“People listen to you. The other Victors, Commander Paylor, the soldiers around the mansion. They look to you for direction. You can’t tell me it wasn’t that way when the rebellion started.”

I remember how Plutarch had relied on me to rally support from the other Victors. My personal agenda had been for them to protect Katniss and Peeta, but they had all sworn their allegiance to me. To _me_. Not the rebellion. At the time I had considered myself synonymous with the rebellion and hadn’t thought much about it. 

I shake my head, refusing to believe I have that kind of power over people, but Effie argues her point before I can say anything.

“You could still take over. You have the support of the people in the district, you have the support of those of us here at command...and I know you’d have the support of the people in the Capitol. You could do it, Haymitch. We don’t have to settle for Coin.”

“I don’t _want_ that kind of power.” I tell her.

“So you’d rather give it to Coin, who wants to exterminate people like me.”

“I’d rather give it to someone responsible enough to handle it, but since no one is stepping forward, I don’t exactly have much of a choice.”

Effie pulls her foot out of my hands and kicks me hard in the leg.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“For being such a…a…a ninny!”

I narrow my eyes at her in response and Effie pulls up on her knees, crawling towards me and seizing me by the front of my vest. 

“Didn’t you hear what I said?! She wants to eradicate the Capitol, Haymitch! You have a real chance to make a positive change and save lives, and you’re going to sit there and let someone else call the shots!” When I don’t say anything Effie shakes me. “Why!? Why won’t you _do_ something!?”

“Because I’ve done my job, sweetheart. Katniss, Peeta and you.” I tick off each of them on my fingers. “Keeping you safe was my responsibility. Yeah, I know I didn’t do such a bang up job with you and Peeta, but I _tried_ and I never gave up. Saving you was always my priority. Everything else I’ve done was because no one else would.”

“But now there’s no one to step up against Coin.” She says urgently. 

“Effie, I don’t _want_ to be a leader. That’s not who I am.”

She growls and lets me go, falling back against the cushions. “I really hate you sometimes, Haymitch.”

“No more than I hate myself, honey.” We’re quiet for a long minute. 

“Why won’t you do anything to save us? To save _me_?” I can hear the tears in her voice.

“You can’t put that on my shoulders, Effie. If I could save everyone, do you honestly think Finnick and Prim and all the others would be dead?” I hold her gaze until she looks away, discreetly wiping a tear. “What are Paylor and the others saying about it?”

“It’s divided. Paylor and Spinel are the ones against the mass genocide.” 

I finally consider what’s she’s saying for several serious moments, then shake my head. “We need a president everyone can agree on. Someone who has _everyone’s_ interest at heart…. We need to hold a country-wide election. Maybe that needs to be first order of business tomorrow. No more delegates officiating themselves as President. It should be a majority vote that includes all of Panem. I’ll call a meeting to order first thing in the morning. All the tributes, Paylor, the mayors, you, whoever else. We’ll take a vote. If Coin wants to be President, she’ll have to earn it.”

The idea seems to regain favor with Effie, as she smiles and curls up against me. “I suppose I can settle for that. Even though I still say _you’d_ be a good leader.”

“A good leader wouldn’t immediately be swayed by vengeance.” I remind her of my thoughts and dreams from not more than a few days ago.

“A good leader would have the sense to understand vengeance and still be a fair and kind to all.” She counters, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. “You’ve proven that of yourself, Haymitch.”

I kiss her just to change the subject, and it works. Effie shifts on the couch and straddles my lap, deepening the kiss as she slips my tie out from under the vest and loosens the knot. I love that I have this affect on Effie, that no matter what we’re arguing about, I can turn the tides by one simple kiss. It’s a fact I wish I’d known years ago for two reasons: 1.) It would have kept Effie off my case a lot more often and 2.) I could have been getting laid regularly all this time. I’m sure I still would have been drunk the majority of the time, but there’s not a man alive who would say no at the chance to get his dick wet.

“I want to feel you inside of me.” She says in a sultry voice as she winds one end of the tie around her hand and rips it off of me. I lick my lips in response, groaning at the sound of her voice and hoping that tonight will be the night she finally talks dirty to me.

“You like the way I feel inside of you?” I push.

Effie’s eyes flick up to mine from where she’d been focusing on undoing the buttons on my vest and shirt. There’s a haughty playfulness glinting in the azure depths that makes my mouth water. “Don’t you?”

Before I can respond, Effie pulls my shirt open over my chest and leans down, nipping at my skin hard enough to leave marks. I hiss a little at the mixture of pleasure and pain and Effie rakes her nails down my stomach before she sits back on my lap and opens her blouse. I lift my hands up to her shoulders, eager to push the fabric off of her, but she stops me. 

“Leave it.” She sounds like she’s out of breath as she reaches for the fastenings on my pants. I arch an eyebrow at her inquisitively and she leans down next to my ear. “I want to fuck you just like this.”

She pulls me free of my trousers, lifting up on her knees to hike up her skirt a little, then sinks back down on top of me, moaning as I enter her.

“ _Fuuuuck_ …” I groan, slipping my hands up under her skirt and groping her bare ass. “When did you take your panties off, sweetheart?”

She smirks at me. “I never put them on this morning.”

My cock jerks in response to that news and I lull my head back against the couch. “Wish I’d known that earlier.” 

“A lady never reveals her secrets.” She muses.

“Good thing you’re not a lady.”

“Shut up, Haymitch.”

Effie rolls her hips, making me grunt in pleasure, and finds a steady rhythm. I work my hand underneath one of the cups of her bra and fondle her happily for a long moment before I push the cup up and draw her forward to take her nipple in my mouth. Her fingers tangle into my hair, dragging my mouth away from her breast and up to her lips. She kisses me fiercely, biting my lower lip.

“Teeth, sweetheart,” I tell her as soon as my lip is free from her assault. As much as I’m enjoying the love bites, I don’t want to look like I’ve been making love to a school of piranhas. Effie just grins at me and grinds her herself down on my cock, making me forget everything else until she lowers her head and sinks her teeth into my neck, just under my jaw. This time, I decide to give her a taste of her own medicine and pull aside her blouse and bra strap as I bite her on the top of her shoulder in return. She sucks in a breath, crying out softly, and I feel her inner walls contract around me in a spasm.

“Yes!” She yells, encouragingly, twining her fingers through my hair and holding me against her shoulder. “Harder!”

I already feel like I’m going to either bruise or break the skin, but I bite down with more pressure and she gasps in absolute pleasure.

I silently add biting to the list of kinks I know about Effie Trinket. I wonder what else she likes and ache to find out as a million different ideas swim through my mind.

Effie’s moaning with complete abandon, bouncing herself up and down on my cock and I pull her skirt up the rest of the way, letting it bunch above her hips and reaching between us to play with her clit—rubbing and flicking and pinching the sensitive bud. Effie leans back, placing one hand behind her on my knee for support as her other hand claws at the bra now sitting askew on her breasts. She pulls the lacy cup still covering her down so that her breast spills over the top, then palms herself, pinching and pulling at her own nipple.

“Haymitch!” She cries. I don’t know what compels me, but my other hand reaches out and my fingers close over her throat. Not hard enough to totally choke her, but enough to restrict her airway. She takes a short gasping breath, her nails digging into my leg through my trousers. Her hips thrust me deeper into her, all the way and she cries out again, this time the sound strangled under my hand. I rub her clit furiously, making her moan continuously until she’s right on the edge. As her walls start to tighten and spasm around me, I tighten my fingers on her neck.

“Uh! Uh! UH!!” Is the only sound that she’s able to push out as she cums.

The thrill and exhilaration I feel is insurmountable, and I can’t stop myself from cumming with her, letting her tight, wet pussy milk me to completion. 

Sated, it takes us both a minute to regain our senses and I drop my hand from her neck and drag her against me. Effie lets her head fall on my shoulder, her breath ragged against my neck. I can feel the pulse of our loins where we’re still joined and I delight in the aftershocks of pleasure that course through me.

I find myself grinning as I add yet another item to Effie’s kink list. “What else are you into that I don’t know about, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know,” she says a little hoarsely. “That was a first for me.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. I liked it. It was very…heat-of-the-moment and exciting.”

“And the biting?”

She sits up, smiling ruefully and offers a shrug by way of answer. I can see the red bands on her neck where my fingers had held her and tilt her head back a little to examine them, hoping I wasn’t squeezing hard enough to bruise her. 

“I’m fine, Haymitch. Really.” She bats my hand away. “I _really_ enjoyed that.”

She offers me a deep, satisfying kiss before she slides off of my lap and shimmies her skirt back into place and readjusts her bra. My eyes are fixated on her, unable to look away from her delightful body. “How often do you go around without your panties?” 

That annoying, knowing smirk is back on her face. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She says before flouncing off down the hallway.

The next morning, I don’t get a chance to call my meeting. Coin informs me as soon as I arrive that she wants to meet with all the Victors straight away and instructs a guard to take me to the small conference room where Peeta, Annie, Enobaria, Johanna, and Beetee are already assembled. 

“What’s this about?” I ask as I take a seat next to Peeta.

“Fuck if we know.” Johanna shrugs, then smirks. “Rough night?”

She’s eyeing the red ring on my neck made by Effie’s teeth that was too high up for my collar to hide. I drop my head a little, letting my hair obscure the mark, but I know it’s too late. The rest of the room has seen the bite mark. “Don’t start.” I warn Johanna, but she just grins at me.

“I’m just glad you’re getting laid, you grouchy son of a bitch.”

Before I can say anything else, the door opens and Katniss comes in clutching a white rose. My face must register shock, but I can tell I’m not the only one. When was she released? Why didn’t anyone tell me? 

Katniss looks like a patchwork doll without the bandages covering her new skin and I feel a swell of anger at the sight of her, knowing what caused this…and who. The others are offering her congratulations on being alive, and welcoming her back into the action, but only Annie has the decency—or perhaps indelicacy—to mention condolences about Prim. Katniss, in return, offers her heartfelt sympathies about Finnick.

When Coin enters the room barely a half a minute behind Katniss, the mood becomes heavy and tense. She wastes no time in getting to the point. “So, an alternative has been placed on the table. Since my colleagues and I can come to no consensus, it has been agreed that we will let the victors decide. A majority of four will approve the plan. No one may abstain from the vote,” says Coin cryptically. 

We all stare at her, trying to figure out what she’s saying, but I have a sinking feeling even before she continues. “What has been proposed is that in lieu of eliminating the entire Capitol population, we have a final, symbolic Hunger Games, using children directly related to those who held the most power.”

The casual way she offers this proposed solution makes me furious, but it’s Peeta who voices his dissent. “Are you joking?”

I can’t help but feel a gamemakers hand in the idea of another Hunger Games as an alternative to mass murder, and my ire rises. “Was this Plutarch’s idea?”

Coin almost looks pleased as she admits the idea was hers and calls for our votes.

I listen vaguely as the others argue their points, not surprised when Peeta, Beetee and Annie all vote no and Enobaria and Johanna vote yes. I’m also not surprised when Katniss votes yes, for her sister, leaving the decision in my hands. 

_My vote will decide it. My vote will seal the fate of the Capitol people._ The thought weighs heavily and my mind is racing as Peeta tries to talk sense into me, but I’m torn once again between justice and vengeance. I think about Effie; about the kind of person she believes me to be, about the faith she has in me to do what’s right…But how is it right to vote ‘no’ when anyone I’ve ever loved and cared about has died because of people like Snow? My mother, Lysander, Mica… where is their justice? Where is their freedom? Where was someone to vote ‘no’ for them so that they may live? And the tributes I’ve lost in the last quarter of a century, where are the people who stood up to the Snow and the Gamemakers for their justice? Finnick, Chaff, Mags, Wiress… How I can stand by and not avenge them in some way? 

What is the old adage? An eye for an eye?

 _Sorry, Eff…vengeance wins out after all_ , I think as I cast the final vote. “I’m with the Mockingjay.”

A hush falls over the room as they all stare at me with varying degrees of shock. Johanna and Enobaria look impressed, Peeta and Annie appalled, Beetee disappointed. Only Katniss’ eyes hold a look of respect, and I know she understands where my vote has come from. She is the only person besides Effie that I’ve ever spoken to in any detail about my losses. 

As we begin to disperse, a sense of dread settles over me. One way or another Effie’s going to hear about the vote. I silently wonder if she knew this was coming, which was why she had pushed so hard for me to take over last night. I wish I’d gotten the chance to call that meeting so Coin wouldn’t have gotten her vote…but I can’t regret my decision. I do, however, owe it to Effie to be the one to tell her how I voted…pissed though she will be.

I follow Coin from the room, knowing that wherever she’s going is likely where Effie will be, and sure enough Effie, Paylor and the two mayors are seated in another conference room, waiting. Coin realizes I’m on her heels and turns to me. “This is a closed meeting, Haymitch.”

“I just need 5 minutes.”

Coin sighs in annoyance. “Very well.”

I crook my finger at Effie, and she rises from the table, excusing herself as she follows me in the hallway. “What’s wrong?”

“You knew about the vote, didn’t you?”

“I tried to tell you.” 

“You said there was a division on how to handle the Capitol people, not that it was going to be left up to us.”

“I _couldn’t_ discuss it fully with you, Haymitch. Believe me, I wanted to. I _tried_ to make you understand.”

I can’t help but snort. “Yeah? Well, now you know how I feel about informing you of the whole goddamn rebellion, sweetheart.”

Effie narrows her eyes for a moment. “What was the verdict, Haymitch?”

I look away from her and mutter, “Welcome to the 76th annual Hunger Games.”

Effie covers her mouth with her hand, a soft sob escaping before she can muffle it. “Please tell me you didn’t…” Her voice is tremulous and hushed.

I feel a sudden sadness wash over me at the prospect of deeply wounding and disappointing the woman before me. I can sense her already shutting her emotions down, closing herself off to me, hollowing out, and the guilt returns as I hang my head. “I told you I would never be a good leader, Effie.”

We stand there for almost a full minute, the silence as loud as if she were screaming at me, but when she finds her voice again, she sounds completely crushed. “How could you?”

I think of every person whose life has ever been affected by the Hunger Games, thinking beyond my own losses, beyond my own selfishness, and look her in the eye. “How could I not?”

“Because it’s _wrong_ , Haymitch!”

I give a short, derisive laugh. “Sweetheart, there’s not been one thing _right_ about any of this.”

There are tears in her eyes for only a moment before she blinks them back and looks at me, scornfully. “So you choose to simply perpetuate the injustice? It’s not enough Snow will be executed, you’ll send his grandchild—innocents—into the arena to die as well?”

“Innocents? Give me a break, honey. There are no innocents in the Capitol. Maybe not even in all of Panem.” 

She lifts her chin indignantly. “I suppose, at least, I’m guaranteed one satisfaction in your decision.” 

“Yeah? What’s that? That it won’t be _you_ going to the arena?”

“No.” She says righteously. “It’s the knowledge that however great your need for retribution is, you still genuinely care about people—however intensely you try to deny it. The deaths of the children whose fates now rest in your hands will forever haunt you. You will live the rest of your life regretting your decision, Haymitch. Of that, I’m certain.”

I feel my ire rising, but mostly because I know she’s probably right and I hate her for throwing that in my face. “You know, Effie, I didn’t expect you to be thrilled with my vote, but at least I had the decency to tell you about it because I didn’t want you to hear it from Coin. I should have known you’d turn it all back on me though, because that’s what you do. Well, that’s fine, sweetheart. Next time I’ll save myself the trouble.”

She’s fighting back tears again, “Are we quite finished here?”

“Oh, trust me, honey…we’re finished.”

I don’t give her the opportunity to rebuttal as I brush past her, forcing myself not to look back. I try not to think of the ramifications of what was said—namely that whatever relationship existed between us is now, needless to say, over with—beyond the fact that there is now nothing holding me to my sobriety. Thank god for that, because I _damn_ sure need a drink now.

I veer off in search of alcohol, pilfering two full bottles of a fine malt whiskey, and head up to the room that had been assigned to me. If someone else has taken it over, they’re just going to have to share or get out because I’ll be goddamned if I’m ever going to set foot in Effie Trinket’s apartment again. The room is empty when I arrive and I slam the door behind me as I unscrew the lid of the first bottle and tip it back, taking several large swallows.

The burn in my throat is a sweet, familiar sensation, like an old friend welcoming me back, and I drain almost a quarter of the bottle within five minutes. I have two items on my agenda: to get drunk and to forget Effie. Letting myself get involved with her sexually was the worst idea I’ve had in a long time, but I think mostly because I do care for Effie. More than I should. I take another swig of alcohol, eager to derail this train of thoughts.

 _Don’t think about Effie_. I tell myself with each swallow, but of course that only serves to make me think more about her. About how indisputably attractive she is, how witty she is, how fucking great she is in bed. _No…definitely don’t think about that._

I force myself to think about the meeting this morning, about the decision we made, and I wait for the remorse to come. Instead, though, all I can feel is anger. Anger at Coin for her running this entire rebellion into the ground; anger at Plutarch for being her lapdog; anger at myself for not having seen it all sooner. Was I really so self-absorbed that I blindly followed those idiots? I didn’t think so, but my main concern had been ensuring Katniss’ survival and turning her into the Mockingjay. I had thought we were all on the same page with everything else: Take the Capitol and end Snow’s reign. I had known Coin’s intention was to take over as president, but I never imagined she would roll right into tyrant. Did Plutarch know? Did he even care? It wasn’t like he was much better than she was in the whole ethics and morality department. 

I can’t help but wonder what would be different if I had stepped up and taken over. Certainly I would never have allowed the release of the parachutes, preventing the needless death of Katniss’ sister and all those children. 

_Children._ Ah…there’s the remorse. So I would have spared those children only to sacrifice them in another Hunger Games? 

_How hypocritical, Haymitch._ I can almost hear the words in my mind as if Effie had just spoken them aloud. 

“Oh…that’s fucking great. Now I’ve got her as my inner monologue?” I drain another quarter of the bottle just to drown the voice out, but it doesn’t take away the realization that she’s right, and that I’m the one responsible for the decision we made this morning. I could have voted no, killing the motion, but I didn’t. 

_Mica would be sooo proud._ My inner Effie says with a condescending shrillness. _Tell me, Haymitch. Do you think she would still love you after seeing the miserable excuse for a man you’ve become?_

“Shut up!” I growl, hurling the bottle in rage. It shatters against the wall, wasting the dregs at the bottom and leaving a wet stain that dribbles down the wall. 

“Hello to you, too.” 

I whirl towards the door, staggering a little as it seems to take my head a minute to catch up with the rest of me, and see Katniss standing with her hand on the knob, looking at the mess of broken glass with a detached expression before she looks back at me. 

“Fall off the wagon already?” 

“I was barely hanging on.” I admit as I grab the second bottle I’d set aside and twist off the cap. I hold it out to her, offering to share, but she waves it away. 

“I need your help.” 

I snort derisively. “What now, sweetheart? More boy trouble?” 

She glares at me and turns to leave, and the guilt strings pull in my gut. 

“Okay, not funny,” I call after her, but Katniss keeps moving. “Not funny! Come back!” 

She pauses in the hallway, casting a sidelong glare at me before deciding to forgive me for the moment, and enters my room. We sit next to each other on the bed and she takes the bottle from my hand this time before taking a swig. 

“I saw him.” 

“Who?” 

“Snow.” 

I look at her, waiting for her to say more. Katniss takes another swig and hands the bottle back to me. 

“I think I’m having second thoughts.” 

“About what?” 

“Killing him.” 

“You better tell me the whole story, sweetheart. I’m not sure I’m following this one-worded exchange so well.” 

She snatches the bottle back from my hand and sets it aside. “I like you better sober, Haymitch. You’re a lot less stupid.” 

“Get to the point, Katniss.” I riposte with some exasperation. “I was about to drink myself into blissful unawareness before you interrupted.” 

“Why?” She sounds slightly annoyed at me. 

“Not your concern,” I answer. “Now tell me about Snow.” 

Katniss tells me about how she’d wandered around the mansion before the meeting and how the guards had tried to stop her from going in through a certain door. I listen as she summarizes the exchange between her and Snow, and how his comment about how they promised not to lie to one another was sticking with her now. 

“Am I doing the right thing…killing him?” She finally asks. 

I carefully consider what to say to her, not wanting to make light of something this serious...or base my words off of my own hatred of him. “He’s not an innocent man, Katniss. Maybe he didn’t create the Hunger Games, but he’s had the power to stop it. He’s killed people—both directly and indirectly. There is no goodness in him; no remorse for what he’s done.” 

“But it’s not going to change anything by killing him. I thought with Snow gone that everything would be better, but it’s not going to be, is it?” 

I sigh and shake my head. “Not with Coin taking over.” 

“Then what do I do, Haymitch?” 

“Snow’s a dead man, whether you kill him or not. Knowing Coin, she might put him in the Hunger Games, but he might actually be clever enough—or stupid enough—to win the damn thing. At least if you kill him, it’ll be done in one shot.” 

She’s quiet for a minute. “We should have voted ‘no.’” 

The guilt resurfaces, making the alcohol churn in my stomach, and I can’t help but think of Effie. “I know.” 

“I couldn’t.” She says with a shaky voice. “I’m not sure I even could if we had to do it over again.” 

“Me either.” I admit. 

Katniss wordlessly hands the bottle back to me then gets up to leave. When she’s at the door, I think of the best advice I can offer. 

“Katniss…” She turns to look at me. “Listen to what your gut tells you, rather than your heart.” 

She nods, and then she’s gone. 

By the time the sun begins to set over the Capitol, I’ve polished off the second bottle, passed out, woken up, vomited, and passed out again on the floor. As I start to regain consciousness a second time, my head pounding like a drum, I can hear the crowd outside the mansion and I know that the time for Snow’s execution is fast approaching. I groan as I roll over and push myself up onto my hands and knees. My stomach roils, threatening another expulsion, but I manage the choke down the gag as I get to my feet and move over to the window to look out on the sea of people filling the City Circle. 

I can see the cameras and lighting in place, and grit my teeth as Plutarch’s image comes to mind. He must love the publicity he’s getting from being the one to film everything. I have no real desire to witness the execution--having a bad taste for watching people die point-blank after Snow had my loved ones killed—but I know I should be there for Katniss. 

As I make my way down to the command center to figure out where the hell I should be for the event, the mansion is buzzing with activity. Guards are hurrying about, people are scurrying to and fro. The anticipation and tension is palpable in the air, creating an atmosphere of severe anxiety. I find the other Victors, sans Katniss, sitting around the conference table. Some of them seem subdued, Johanna looks bored, and Enobaria seems to be waiting for something to happen. She’s the first one to speak as I join them around the table. 

“Well, well, well. We wondered if you’d be surfacing again tonight.” Her lips tilt up in a sideways smirk. “How’s the hangover?” 

“What’s the deal?” I ask, ignoring her. “Where are Coin and the others?” 

“Their business was much too important to include the likes of us.” Enobaria answers. 

“Guess we’re still just pawns in their stupid games.” Johanna grumbles. 

“You’re the one who voted for it.” Peeta mutters. 

Johanna scoffs. “Are you still on about that? God, you’re annoying.” 

“Alright, alright… it’s been a heavy day for all of us. Let’s just move on.” I say above them before an argument can break out. “Where’s Katniss?” 

“Getting ready.” Peeta answers moodily. “They brought that stupid Mockingjay suit for her to wear.” 

I think about my conversation with Katniss earlier and wonder what she’s decided to do. I suppose if she’s prepping, then she must have decided to go through with the execution. I’m not really sure how to feel about that. 

Just about that time Effie walks into the conference room, trying to smile brightly, but her smile falters as she sees me. I can see how superficial her expression is—the hollow void is back in her eyes, but this time I have my doubts that she’s been thinking about her parents and Deora. I feel the knot of guilt synch tightly in my stomach, knowing I’m the one who has caused her this pain. 

“The President has asked for you to all stand with her on the balcony this evening. We will be taking our places in 10 minutes time.” 

As Effie turns to leave, I hear Johanna snort softly. “Is she too good to tell us that herself?” 

“President Coin is otherwise engaged at the moment.” Effie responds, still trying to hold her smile in place and avoid looking at me. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

“Ugh…” Johanna groans as Effie retreats from the room, then looks at me. “What the hell do you see in her, Haymitch? She’s still as brainwashed as ever.” 

I don’t answer as I get up and follow Effie, feeling like I owe her some sort of an apology. She doesn’t stop when I call to her, so I call out louder, knowing that she’ll have to turn and look at me if others start looking my way. It works, but when she faces me, her lips are pursed in annoyance. 

“I’m rather busy right now, Haymitch, so if you don’t mind—“ 

“I do mind.” I say as I come to stand a foot in front of her. She rolls her eyes, still avoiding my gaze. 

“What is it, then?” She asks, narrowing her eyes. “If you’ve come to tell me you’ve given up sobriety, I think I’ve worked that one out on my own.” 

“I came to say I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“What hurts me, Haymitch, is the fact that I have more faith in you than you do. You hide behind your insincerity and sarcasm and booze because you think your kindness and compassion are a weakness rather than a virtue. I know you think you’re bringing justice to everyone you’ve lost, but did it ever occur to you that this is not the way they would want to be honored? No matter how many men, women, and children die, it will never be enough in your mind. And it won’t bring them back.” She looks at me with a benevolent expression. “I think I understand you well enough to know that you’re already detest yourself for this. You can try and drink the anguish away, just as you’ve always done, but no amount of alcohol will erase this from your mind, and I pity you that, Haymitch.” 

I’m so dumbfounded that all I can do is bow my head in shame as an image pulls up in my mind of thousands of faces looking back at me with utter disappointment. Front and center are my mother, Lysander and Mica. Effie’s right, the anguish that washes over me is so intense that not even death would bring a reprieve from the pain. 

I can hear the sadness in her voice when she speaks again. “There…you see. I told you, you’re a good man, Haymitch. It breaks my heart that you didn’t have the valor to believe it yourself.” 

Despite my desperate attempt to hold back my emotions, my eyes begin to sting behind a pool of tears and I slam my eyelids shut to contain them. I feel Effie’s cool hand on my cheek, coaxing me to look at her. I see the pain in her eyes and nearly have to look away, but she steadies my face, keeping her eyes locked with mine. 

“I don’t know if I can forgive you this, Haymitch. As awful as you have been to me in the past, this cuts the deepest.” 

I open my mouth, intent on telling her she’s better off without me anyways, but Effie places her fingers over my lips. 

“There’s nothing we can do about this right now, so let’s just set aside for later.” 

I give a slight nod and Effie slowly lowers her fingers. I offer her a feeble, “I’m sorry.” 

Her eyes glisten with tears. “I have to go.” 

The other Victors, sans Peeta, are coming down the hall, ready to go up to the balcony, as Effie turns and hurries off to find Coin. Johanna falls in beside me, smirking as she nudges me with her shoulder. 

“What was that all about? Lovers’ quarrel?” 

“Shut up, Jo.” I snap back at her with more feeling than I intended to let slip. 

She blinks in surprised. “Sorry, Haymitch. It was just a joke.” 

“I’m not in the mood.” 

“Obviously.” She grumbles. 

The six of us walk in silence the rest of the way to the elevator that will take us up to the high balcony. I know I should be focused on the events that are about to transpire, but all I can think about is Effie and her disappointment in me. It almost hurts more than the thought of Mica being disappointed in me. 

When the doors of the elevator slide open, spitting us out onto the balcony, I can’t help but feel a sense of awe. This is the first time I’ve been up here and the view is unbelievable. I’m fairly sure the Victors are on camera right now, so I try to keep my expression neutral, and move to the rail to stand. 

Annie comes to stand beside me, looking over the sea of people below us. “It’s okay, you know.” 

I look at her, not quite sure what she’s referring to. She looks up at me and places her hand over mine as it rests on the rail. 

“Your vote.” She clarifies. “It’s okay.” 

“Annie—“ 

“I want to name the baby after Finn.” She interrupts, not giving me a chance to argue. She’s smiling as she places her hands on her belly that hasn’t yet begun to swell. “I know it’s silly, but sometimes I think I can feel him swimming in there. The baby. It makes me happy.” She reaches for my hand and places it on her stomach. “Can you feel him?” 

I don’t have the heart to say no, so I simply try to smile in response. 

“Remember when you said you’d take care of us, Haymitch?” 

“Of course I do.” 

She searches my eyes for a long moment. “I want you to be little Finny’s godfather. Finn respected you so much, I know it would mean everything to him. Oh, say you will, Haymitch. Please?” 

I feel the pendulum of my emotions beginning to swing back into dangerous territory, the tears burning my eyes yet again and I pull Annie into a fierce hug so she doesn’t see me about to cry. “You bet I will, sweetheart. Anything I can do… _anything_ …” 

She pulls back, smiling brightly and bounces up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek before skipping off to sit next to Beetee. She looks almost blissfully unaware of the execution about to take place, and I find myself envious of her. As I’m watching Annie, I feel a hand slip down into my own, and know just by the touch that it’s Effie. I turn to face her, and the look in her eyes is evidence of her thoughts. 

_I told you you were a good man._

_You heard all of that?_ I ask her with my own expression, and she gives a slight nod before squeezing my hand. 

_I forgive you._ She seems to be telling me. 

I draw her hand to my lips, kissing the backs of her fingers just as the din of the crowd begins to grow louder, signaling that Coin has joined us on the balcony. 

Out of the corner of my eye I see her step up to the rail, a wireless microphone in her hand as she waves to the crowd. There seems to be an equal amount of cheers and dissent from the crowd, but Coin takes it all in with a wide smile as she address the whole of Panem, live, for the first time since seizing control of the Capitol. 

“Citizens of Panem,” Coin calls out. “Tonight the sun sets on the oppression that has held us down for nearly a century! Together we have fought for our freedom, and tomorrow we watch the dawning of a new day for Panem!” 

The majority of the crowd is going wild now, ramped by the power behind her words. I don’t fail to notice, though, how she conveniently left out the bit about the final Hunger Games and I can only imagine how she plans to spring that news on her new adoring citizens. 

When she calls for Snow to be brought forth, I have to lean a little over the railing to watch the guards escort him out the front door to a hitching post at the edge of the stairs. I can see Katniss now as well, in her Mockingjay armor, with her silver bow and one arrow, as she gets into position. 

Her eyes flick up to the balcony, searching, and I know she must see me and Effie so I assume she’s looking for Gale or Peeta. I try to give her a reassuring nod when her eyes sweep over me again, but if she notices, I can’t be certain. A strange hush begins to fall over the entire city and for a moment I wonder if I’ve gone deaf, but then I realize that we all seem to be holding our breath. 

Katniss draws back the string on her bow, the arrow pointed straight at Snow’s heart. I can see almost immediately that she’s hesitating. I want to shout down to her, but my tongue feels like it’s made of lead and all I can do is watch and wait to see what she’s going to do. Effie grips my hand tighter in hers, and I can feel her trembling ever so slightly. Katniss’ gaze flicks back up to me and we hold each other’s eyes for several seconds. 

_Follow your gut!_ I scream at her in my mind. She nods slowly in understanding, and in the next instant she’s rotating her aim towards the balcony and releases the arrow. 

There’s no time to react. All of Panem watches as the arrow implants itself through Coin’s left eye into her brain. Her body staggers from the force, then collapses forward, toppling over the rail before anyone can even move to catch her. Horrified screams erupt from the crowd, and I grip the rail, leaning over as chaos breaks out down below. 

“KATNISS!” Effie and I both shout, but she is already swallowed up by the guards who lift her over their heads as the surge of angry people converges on them. Above the roar of the scene below, we can easily pick out Katniss cries to Gale. 

“Gale! Shoot me! Shoot me!!” 

Effie and I both look at each other in shock for a long moment, then turn and run for the elevator. 

\-- 

TBC 


	7. Chapter 7

Complete mayhem has ensued by the time Effie and I reach the elevator. There are guards rushing forward to the rail, firing their heavy guns into the riotous mob below. I don’t even have time to think about how many people might be wounded or dead within the minute that has passed since Coin fell. All I can think about is Katniss’ safety, and getting the hell out of here.

Paylor is rushing towards the guards calling for a ceasefire, but only a few of the soldiers seem to be listening to her. Everyone else has taken up the flight response Effie and I had, creating a slight bottleneck at the elevator. 

“Why the hell is there only one way on and off of this stupid balcony?”

“Snow’s too paranoid.” Enobaria says, materializing to my right. “Too many ways onto the balcony invite too many opportunities for assassination.” 

“Surprised he didn’t have a damn force field up,” I say, nodding towards the balcony. “Katniss had no trouble in her assassination attempt.”

“Crazy girl.” Enobaria says with a slight smirk. “She’s gonna be in a world of shit, Haymitch.”

“If the crowd doesn’t rip her apart first.” I mutter.

When the lift doors finally open, we all cram ourselves into the car, and all eyes turn to me. 

“What’s the plan?” Johanna asks.

“’Get the hell out of here’ seems like a logical option.”

“You can’t be suggesting that we go out into that madness!” Effie argues.

“She’s right, Haymitch.” Enobaria says. “We need to figure out how to regain control before anything.”

“Yeah? Us and what army? In case you forgot, those soldiers worked for Coin. They’ll just as soon shoot us as they would anyone in that mob.”

“That’s not entirely true.” Beetee pipes up.

I flash my gaze towards him. “What’d you mean?”

“Paylor’s soldiers are still loyal to her. And not everyone from 13 was thrilled with Coin.”

“Alright.” I try to formulate a plan as quick as I can, knowing that time is of the essence. If whoever is still in support of the rebellion hasn’t already jumped into action to contain the mob, then we could be easily overtaken in the next few minutes. “Paylor’s still up on the balcony. Let’s hope she can organize those soldiers from there, but we need to figure out who’s got the upper hand right now.”

“We need to get to the command room.” Beetee says.

“Good plan.”

When the doors open, however, I can hear Katniss’ angry screams of “Let me go! Let me go!!” and immediately abandon the plan, and the others, as I bolt towards the sound of Katniss’ voice. I hear the sound of a man yelp in pain, and just as I round the corner of the hallway, I see one of the guards rear his fist back and knock Katniss out cold.

“HEY!” I shout as her body goes limp, supported only by the guards still restraining her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing!?”

“It was necessary.” The guard who punched her tells me as I finally reach them. “She…bit me. We needed to subdue her.”

“She’s subdued alright.” I growl, lifting Katniss’ chin and looking into her unconscious face. The new pink skin cells look like shredded tissue paper over her face and neck—probably from the attack from the mob outside. She’s a bloodied mess, and the bruise from the punch is already starting to form on her cheek. “Give her to me and go do your jobs getting that crowd under control.”

“She needs to be under guard—“

“I’ll stay with her until the situation is under control. Got it?”

The guards look at me, unsure if I have the authority to make that call, but realizing that I must be the closest thing to a leader they have right now. One of the guards helps to sling Katniss’ arm around my neck as I hold her up around the waist. To my surprise, Effie slips under Katniss’ other arm, shouldering part of the dead weight of the girl between us. I look at her for a moment, having not even realized she’d followed me.

“Let’s take her to her room and get her cleaned up.” Effie suggests.

I nod and we half carry-half drag Katniss up a flight of steps to the room she’s been assigned. Aven is there, also to my surprise, looking fearful and worried as we drag her daughter into the bedroom.

“I couldn’t bear to see it in person,” Aven tells us as we lay Katniss on the bed. “I was watching on the television… Oh…God…Haymitch...what are they going to do to her?”

“I don’t know.” I really don’t. “When the crowd is under control again, then we can worry about what to do.”

“Call for the election.” Effie urges me anxiously. “You would have this morning. You still can. We can ask that Katniss be granted a trial. I know she did an atrocious thing, but what difference is killing one tyrant when we were about to murder another?”

I blink at Effie for a long minute, then burst into a fit of laughter. Effie looks completely annoyed.

“This is hardly funny, Haymitch.”

“You’re right.” I chortled, trying to contain myself. “This is completely serious.”

She puts her hands on her hips when I fail to stop laughing.

“It’s just so absurd. I mean the way you put it. You’re absolutely right. I bet there’s not one of us who’s the least bit sad that Coin’s gone. Katniss did us a favor. I only wish I had thought of the plot to kill Coin instead of Snow. That would have saved us a lot of trouble.”

Effie tsks in annoyance, deciding to ignore me as she turns her attention back to Katniss. Aven has already retrieved a wash cloth and is dabbing at the splotches of blood on Katniss’ face. “We need to get her out of this and into a warm bath. She’s going to lose the new skin cells, but if we don’t get her cleaned off, they could cause an infection. Haymitch, can you hold her up while we undress her?”

I try not to openly grimace at the prospect of holding onto a naked Katniss. Not that I have anything against nudity, but it seems like a violation of her privacy to be here when she’s so vulnerable. Still, there aren’t many other options available, so I step forward and ease Katniss into a sitting position on the bed, letting Aven and Effie work the fastenings and closures until they can pull off what they can. I stare over the top of Katniss’ head, fixing my gaze on the wall as I wrap my arms around her gently and pull her into a standing position so they can finish undressing her.

“Good.” Aven says, tossing Katniss’ boot to the side. “I’ll run a warm bath. Bring her in, Haymitch.”

I know I can neither drag Katniss, nor throw her over my shoulder if I expect to save her any sort of dignity, so I pull her arm around my neck again, then swoop down and lift her into my arms, grunting slightly from the exertion. For such a skinny, underfed girl, Katniss weighs a lot more than I expected. I wait until Aven gives me the go ahead to put Katniss in the tub of warm water, and gently set her down, soaking my shirt sleeves in the process.

“Thank you, Haymitch.” Aven tells me gently. “I can handle it for now, though if she hasn’t come to by the time I get her clean, I’ll need your help to get her out of the tub again.”

“We’ll wait out here.” I tell her, nodding towards the bedroom as I slip out and pull the door to. Effie is already piecing together items of loose clothing she’s pulled from a chest of drawers to dress Katniss in as I sit on the bed with a sigh, raking my fingers through my hair before rolling up my wet shirt sleeves. 

Now that we’re somewhat alone and not dealing with either the mob or Katniss, I feel like there’s a rather large elephant in the room with Effie and me. “Where exactly do we stand now?”

“What do you mean?” She asks, either playing stupid or too caught up in everything to know what I’m talking about.

“You know what I mean, Effie.” I say quietly, getting up from the bed and crossing the small spans of the room to stand in front of her. It takes her a moment before she lifts her gaze to mine.

“Where do you think we stand?”

“I don’t know.” I answer sincerely. “I know where I’d like to be, though.”

“Where is that?” I hear the hope in her voice as she searches my eyes.

I lift my hand to her face, lightly stroking her cheek with the backs of my fingers as I think of what exactly I’m trying to say, but when words fail me I close the remaining distance between us and lower my lips to hers in a tender, lingering kiss. When I draw my lips away from hers, I pull her into my arms and hold her to me tightly, ignoring the powdery smell of pink curls as her wig presses against my nose.

“Forgive me…” I plead in a whisper.

“I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness.” I can hear the tears she’s fighting to control. 

“You didn’t do anythi—“

“I was rotten to you.” Effie interrupts, pulling back to look at me. “What I said to you was deplorable. You can’t deny that.”

“It’s no less than I deserved, sweetheart.”

She looks pained. “Did you drink because of me?”

“Not entirely.” I answer hesitantly, not wanting to lie but not wanting her to feel responsible either. Nor do I want to tell her about the voice in my head that nagged at me in her stead. I see the tears spill over onto her cheeks and take her face in my hands, wiping away the wetness with my thumbs. “Don’t cry, Eff, you’ll smear that god-awful greasepaint.”

She half laughs/half sobs, and smacks my arm as she pulls back from me. “So what happens now?” 

“Well, we probably don’t have enough time for make-up sex.” I tease, earning a tsk of annoyance from Effie as she dabs at her eyes with her fingertips, trying to preserve her makeup.

“Honestly, Haymitch… is it completely impossible for you to be serious for one minute?”

“What makes you think I wasn’t serious?” I smirk. 

Effie puts her hands on her hips.

“Do you forgive me?” I finally ask, bringing a note of sincerity to my voice.

“Yes. If you’ll forgive me.”

“I have nothing to forgive you for, Effie.” She opens her mouth to protest but I forge on before she can interrupt. “I don’t deserve a second chance, sweetheart. Now that you’ve seen how much potential I have to hurt you and other people, you should be running for the hills…but…I don’t want to lose you.”

“I suppose in some perverse way, today’s events needed to happen.” Effie says, surprising me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Haymitch, but you needed to see how truly wrong you were in holding onto your need for justice; for letting it rule you as it did. I’m just glad no one had to die in order for you to understand it all… Well, except Coin.” She adds, dismissively.

I can’t help it. I laugh. She tries to hide her own smile as she slides her arms around my neck.

“Now, as for second chances...” She lets the thought go unspoken as she draws me down into another kiss that ends far too soon when we hear a scream from the bathroom followed by a loud CRACK! I dash for the door, throwing it open to see Aven sitting back against the vanity, her hand to the back of her head, looking dazed, and Katniss standing in the tub, breathing heavily, her eyes wide with panic and fear. Aven pulls her hand away from her head and I see the smear of blood along her fingers.

“Effie—“ I point to Katniss as I grab a hand towel and crouch down next to Aven, pressing the towel against the gash in her head. “Are you okay?”

“She was startled when she woke up.” Aven says somewhat slowly. “She threw me back and I hit my head on the corner of that.” She points up at the vanity at her back.

“Let me see.” I say gently. Aven drops her head a little and I lift the towel away to examine the wound. The gash is small, but deep. Not something that can be easily fixed by a little pressure with a hand towel. “You’re going to need a medic, Aven. It’s pretty deep.”

“No…just find me a needle and thread. I can stitch it up.”

“You can’t even see it, how are you going to stitch it?”

Aven looks at Katniss, who has finally come to her senses and has been wrapped in a towel by Effie. “Do you remember how?”

Katniss nods sheepishly. “Mom…I’m sorry…”

“It’s alright.” Aven says. “Haymitch. In my room I have a small medical bag. I always keep things like that in there.” 

I know that Aven’s room is next to Katniss’ so I take Aven’s hand and place it on the towel to hold it in place before I run next door to retrieve the bag. I expect to find it in an obvious spot—the bathroom countertop, the top of the dresser, the nightstand—but it takes some digging through the drawers before I finally find it. When I make it back to the room, Effie is helping Katniss into the clothing she’s set out and I advert my eyes from Katniss’ bare torso as I make my way back to the bathroom.

Aven has moved and is seated on the closed toilet lid. “Good. Thank you, Haymitch.”

“Is there anything else I can do?”

She starts to shake her head, but cringes in pain. “No. I’ll be alright.”

Katniss joins us in the bathroom and I step aside as she digs around in the kit for the needle and thread. “Are they going to kill me, Haymitch?”

The question takes me off-guard for a minute as I’d almost forgotten all the events that had led up to this moment. “Not if I have anything to say about it, sweetheart.”

“I couldn’t let her take control.” Katniss says as she threads the needle. “My gut told me to do it.”

Her eyes meet mine for just a second and I give her a small nod to let her know that I think she did the right thing. “It’s caused a bit of chaos out there, but once things settle down, we’ll sort this all out.”

“Where are Peeta and Gale? They were outside when the crowd attacked.”

“I don’t know. When they mobbed you, it was hard to tell what was happening from the balcony. We got out of there as fast as we could to get to you.”

“Haymitch,” Effie says quietly from the bathroom doorway. “Perhaps you ought to get down to the command room and see if there has been any progress. You need to be down there.”

I can hear the earnestness in her voice telling me that she’s afraid of the decisions the others might make if I’m not there to speak up. I offer a nod. “Alright. You three stay here.”

I lightly touch Effie’s arm as I slip past her, then head down to command.

Plutarch, Beetee, Annie, Johanna, Enobaria and the two mayors from 1 and 11 are all talking at once. Paylor has joined them and is holding her hands up as she tries to talk over everyone to shut them up, to no avail.

“Katniss is dead.” I say loudly. 

Dead silence follows as all eyes turn to me.

“Oh good, you are capable of shutting your mouths.”

Paylor’s the one to speak. “Haymitch?”

“She’s fine. She’s upstairs with her mother and Effie.”

“You’re an ass.” Johanna mutters, but I ignore her.

“Where do we stand?”

“Several people were wounded by the shots that were fired, but no deaths that have been reported so far.” Paylor announces. “We’ve taken several rioters into custody and the soldiers have started clearing the city circle, but there’s a lot of unrest out there.”

“What about Snow?”

“He’s dead.” Plutarch says flatly. “He either choked to death on his own blood or was crushed by the mob that tried to attack Katniss.”

“Two birds with one arrow.” I mutter, then sigh. “Any word on Peeta or Gale Hawthorne?”

“Hawthorne has been helping to subdue the crowd. The Mellark boy is currently MIA.”

“Enough about the stupid kid,” Enobaria says. “What are we going to do about the fact that we have no president now? There’ll be an uproar in the Districts, just watch. All the so-called unity we achieved with the rebellion, that’s gonna go right out the window. Just you wait.”

“We hold an election.” I say before anyone else can open their mouths to speak. “We select qualified individuals from each District who want to run for office, and we hold an old-fashioned election. Anyone old enough to be reaped for the Hunger Games should be allowed to vote.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” Beetee declares. “We all agreed that the leaders of the Districts should have been involved with the discussions from the get go.”

“Plutarch, can we film a new propos? Alerting Panem to the election?” Paylor asks.

“Yes of course!” Plutarch says, perking up at the prospect of being able to put his name on something else.

“Good. Let’s get on that right away.” Paylor nods, then takes a deep breath. “Now…What do we do about Katniss? Not only will the Snow supporters want her blood, but now anyone who favored Coin will as well.”

“A trial.” I say, again before the others can offer up suggestions. “Katniss thought she was doing the right thing. Coin would have become a tyrant, just like Snow. She already was with her desire to kill off the Capitol people…and the Hunger Games. Someone like that shouldn’t be put in power.”

“I agree,” Paylor says gently. “But she did kill the President, Haymitch.”

“And she was supposed to kill a former President. Whom, may I remind everyone, was not given a fair trial. How is Katniss killing Coin any different than if she’d stuck an arrow in Snow?”

“Because it was a rogue move.” Paylor answers not unkindly. “Right or wrong, she acted on her own in this and it cannot go unpunished.”

“Right. Because the Capitol loves to make examples of people who defy their rules.” I say coldly.

“Haymitch—“

“No, no, no,” I interrupt Paylor. “I get it. Trust me; I get it. But if you want to show Panem that true justice will be the law of the land, then hold a fair trial.”

There is silence for a moment as the others consider this, then Plutarch speaks up. “We could televise the whole thing.”

I want to roll my eyes, but his comment spurs the others into conversation and in the end the vote is unanimous: Katniss will get a fair trial.

We decide that it would be difficult to find an impartial judge of character, and instead settle on a panel of judges that will listen to testimony and witness accounts. It will be up the judges to determine Katniss’ fate at that point. As the details of who the witnesses and judges are discussed, Paylor looks at me.

“As much as I know you want to be involved in this, Haymitch, I think I must ask you to leave. None of us knows Katniss quite as well as you, and if this is to be a truly fair trial, then there can be no conflict of interests. Being that you are her friend and mentor, I feel it’s in her best interest for you to step aside. Should we need you as a character witness, we will call for your statement.”

The dismissal stings, even though I know Paylor is right, but I’m grateful when she adds to her statement by asking if any of the others feel a particular closeness to Katniss, to please leave as well. None of them do, but that doesn’t really surprise me. 

I return to Katniss’ room to find Aven gone, and Katniss pacing the floor like a caged animal as she bites her nails. Effie is sitting primly on the edge of the bed. Katniss practically pounces on me as I enter the room.

“Well?”

“They’re going to hold a trial.” I tell her. “I’m not allowed to be involved in the discussions, but I know that it’s going to be a panel of judges and they’re going to ask for testimony from character witnesses.”

“What else?”

“Plutarch is going to film a message that will air to all of Panem…we’ve agreed on holding a national election to vote in the next President.”

“Oh, Haymitch!” Effie beams. “I knew they’d listen to you.”

“What about Peeta and Gale?”

“No word on Peeta. Gale’s out helping to get control of the crowds.”

Katniss sighs heavily and plunks down on the bed next to Effie. “So I guess I’m stuck in here in the meantime?”

“I’m afraid so, sweetheart.”

“I don’t like being cooped up.” She mutters, then goes back to chewing her nails. “Do me a favor…if Peeta comes back… Tell him to drop dead.”

Effie gasps, but I hold up my hand to stop her from whatever she’s about to say. “Look, sweetheart, you’ve got to give him a break.”

“Have you forgotten he tried to kill me? Oh, and then he wouldn’t even let me kill myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“After I killed Coin, I figured I was as good as dead. I went for the capsule in my suit, but Peeta stopped me. Guess he wanted the pleasure of doing it himself…the traitor.”

“Katniss…” I say softly.

“Don’t tell me it’s not his fault, Haymitch. I don’t care anymore.” But the tears in her eyes say otherwise.

I crouch down in front of Katniss, not surprised when she turns her head to look away from me. “He’s trying, sweetheart. Give him a little credit.”

“Whatever.” Katniss says bitterly, narrowing her eyes. “Let him prove it to me.”

Effie and I exchange a look, neither of us knowing quite what to say to be of any help to Katniss, but true to her nature, Katniss quickly buries her emotions and changes the subject. “I’m hungry, think they’d let me get something to eat?”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing and lightly pat her knee. “Why don’t I go see what I can get you?”

I leave Katniss with Effie and wander off to see what I can find for her to eat. Johanna is the only person in the dining room, picking at a small buffet of food with a sour expression. Her eyes flick up at me as I come to survey the offerings next to her.

“Your loverboy is back.”

“Peeta?” I ask in surprise.

“Who else would ‘loverboy’ be?” She scoffs.

“Where is he?”

“Debriefing with Paylor and the others. Apparently he got caught up in the mob for a while, but he’s fine.” 

“Any new developments?”

“Not really.” She shrugs. “After you left, that’s about when Peeta arrived. I didn’t feel like sitting through everything again, so I came out here for some food.”

“I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.” I say, loading up a plate of food. Just as I’m ready to head off again, Johanna speaks.

“Do me a favor, Haymitch… Tell Katniss I’m on her side. We all are, I think, in some way.”

I nod, then go back up to Katniss’ room. She’s stifling a laugh as I hand her the plate of food, snagging a roll before she can bat my hand away. “What’s so funny?” I ask, biting into the soft, fluffy bread and looking between the two women suspiciously. I can tell Effie’s blushing, even though I can’t see the color under her pale makeup, and she’s avoiding my gaze.

Katniss just sniggers and digs into the food.

I get the distinct feeling I’m the butt of a joke, but let it go as I move to sit in the chair in the corner of the room. 

Effie clears her throat softly, gaining our attention as she rises from the bed. “I should go and see if there’s anything I can do. If you’ll both excuse me?”

I give a wave of dismissal, and see that amused smirk return to Katniss’ face as Effie slips out. “Alright, what’s so damn funny already?”

“You.”

“And?” I ask, failing to find the humor.

“And Effie.” She grins.

“Don’t you start that, too. I’ve had enough from Enobaria and Johanna. I don’t need it from you, sweetheart!”

“So, it’s true?” She looks astonished and appalled all at once. 

“How does everyone seem to know? It’s not like we’ve been broadcasting our sex life.”

“Ugh…please, Haymitch…no details.” Katniss says covering her ears. 

“No, really, Katniss—how did you know?”

She sobers her expression, looking at the food rather than me. “When I came to talk to you earlier, I knew you were upset about something—you told me to mind my own business, so I didn’t bug you about it. Then Effie was there when I was getting ready for…well, you know…and she had this look in her eyes, like she’d just lost everything in the world, and I knew it wasn’t just about her family. I didn’t really put it together until I saw the two of you together on the balcony before I shot Coin.”

I don’t know what to say in response to that, so I don’t say anything, but Katniss won’t let it go.

“She really likes you, you know.”

I grunt in response, trying to convey my disinterest in the subject because I don’t want to examine my own feelings for Effie.

“I didn’t want to ask her straight out what was going on between you two, so when you left a little bit ago to get the food, I said something that had her choking on her own saliva.”

She knows she now has my undivided attention and her lips curl upwards almost fiendishly as I ask, “What did you say?”

“I told her I thought you had a nice butt and asked if she agreed with me.”

I throw my head back and laugh at the unexpected response, then finally grin at her when I regain my composure. “Never knew you had a thing for me, sweetheart.”

She rolls her eyes and pins me with a look. “Please…” she says sardonically and returns to her food. “I didn’t realize you had a thing for Effie.”

“I didn’t,” I confess. “It just sort of happened. I’m probably making a huge mistake—all we’ve done is fight and fu—“

“ _Don’t_ …finish that word.” Katniss cuts me off, her hands flying to her ears again as she shudders. “Now I hope they _do_ kill me just so I don’t have to live with that image in my head the rest of my life.”

Her comment brings a heaviness to the air as we both sober our thoughts, remembering the gravity of the situation. “Katniss—“

“I think I’m done eating.” She says, moving the plate away and ignoring me. “I feel a little tired too, maybe I’ll try and sleep.”

“Katniss...”

“If you see Peeta, I still want you to tell him to go to hell.”

“Damn it, Katniss!” I slam a fist down on the arm of the chair and she finally looks at me with tears in her eyes. My annoyance quickly fades and I move to sit beside her on the bed, carefully wrapping my arm around her shoulders, not wanting to aggravate the wounded flesh more than necessary.

“I did it for Prim.” She says with a small sob. 

“I know.” I murmur.

“I couldn’t let Coin take over. I couldn’t…” She repeats for the second time that night.

“I know, sweetheart.”

She looks at me with a watery, albeit hardened look. “I’d do it again if I had to, Haymitch.”

“I know.” I press a kiss to her brow and brush her singed and matted hair from her face. “Lay down and get some sleep. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

I pick up the near-empty plate and am halfway to the door when Katniss speaks again. “Haymitch…” I turn and look at her questioningly. In this moment, she’s not an assassin or a war hero or the Mockingjay or even the girl on fire. She’s a small, frightened seventeen year old, who finally feels the weight of everything that’s happened to her in the last couple of years as it crashes down on her all at once. She sounds even smaller as she says, “I want my mother…”

Nodding in understanding, I leave and go next door to retrieve Aven, then I head off to see what else I can do that might help Katniss get out of this mess.

It’s a long, sleepless night… Paylor has filmed the new propos, calling for the election of the new president, and as Plutarch and his team prepare it to air, she’s already begun to call in an official from each district to serve on the panel of judges for Katniss’ trial. Gale and several of the higher-ranking officers from both District 13 and District 8 establish a new contingency plan to deal with what remains of the rioters, and to maintain control in the interim before the elections. The rest of us just seem to be hovering about with nothing to do, waiting for the most menial task just to keep us occupied. There isn’t much conversation, no teasing or joking around, and it seems to only make us all more on edge.

I don’t see Effie for quite some time until she and Paylor join the rest of us. Effie looks exhausted, but determined and takes a seat next to me as Paylor speaks.

“We’ve already spoken in some detail about the trial for Katniss, but now I want to open the discussion to see who is willing to speak in her favor…and who will want to speak against her. Haymitch, I’m sure I already know where you stand, but let’s have a show of hands. Those of you who wish to speak in favor of Katniss…?”

Four hands go up. Beetee, Joanna, Annie, and I all look at Enobaria and Peeta.

“I don’t want to speak for Katniss,” Enobaria says. “But I won’t speak against her. I would prefer not to be called to testify.”

“Very well.” Paylor nods. “Peeta?”

“I don’t think I should speak either.” Peeta speaks up. “I just don’t think I can.”

I’m stunned by his response, though I know I shouldn’t be. As much as the boy has been through, how could I possibly blame him? Still, I can’t help but feel irritated at him on Katniss’ behalf.

Again Paylor nods. “Officials will be arriving today. We will begin a preliminary hearing to review the evidence, then we will speak with you all. Plutarch and I have agreed that instead of allowing the public to watch the proceedings in the hearing room, we will broadcast it live. We both feel it would be pandemonium if we allow general access. I suggest you all return your rooms and get some rest. I daresay we’re going to need it.”

As the others start to rise and file out, I remain seated at the table. Paylor looks at me curiously as she starts to rise from the table, a weary expression on her face. “What is it, Haymitch?”

“Are you going to let Katniss speak for herself?” I ask. “She should get the chance to explain her actions.”

“If it’s deemed necessary.”

“What do you mean ‘if?’” I ask, feeling my temper flair up. 

“Haymitch…” Effie says gently, standing off to my left.

“What do you want me to say, Haymitch?” Paylor asks in annoyance, waving off Effie’s attempt to calm me. “We’ve been through this. She assassinated Coin on national television. National television!”

I pick up the crystal water glass I’d been drinking from all night and hurl it across the room as I shove my chair back violently. The glass shatters into a hundred tiny shards, making Effie shriek at the suddenness of my reaction. “Why am I the only one who sees how backwards this is?! For the last 75 years we’ve been televising the slaughter of our children. Making it _mandatory_ viewing. Last night we were going to televise the execution of President Snow. So, because Katniss killed the wrong President during a televised execution you’re going to treat her like a criminal? How does this possibly make any sense to you?!”

Paylor tries to control her tempter as she speaks to me as though I’m a belligerent child. “Too many people look to Katniss for what they should do, and if they follow her lead and decide to eliminate the government completely, it will be complete anarchy. I’m trying to prevent another war, Haymitch.”

I can’t help but scoff. “Yeah…God forbid a rebellion happen in this country.” I pause, letting the point hit home to the leader of the rebellion in District 8. 

“You know that’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” I feel drained from the day’s events, the fight finally going out of me as I sigh wearily. “If you paint her a traitor, you paint us all traitors.”

I feel Effie’s hand on my back as a hush follows my words, and I know she’s silently asking me to let it go for now. Breaking my gaze away from Paylor’s, I place my hand at the small of Effie’s back and guide her towards the door.

“I’m not the enemy, Haymitch.” Paylor says softly.

I look back over my shoulder at her. “Neither is Katniss.”

-

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Extending Katniss’ trial time since it was about 2 days in the book, and I felt it was just too short of time for everything. Changing up the way things happened a little at the end of Mockingjay.

The next few days seem to last an eternity. Effie and I have decided to stay at the mansion so that we can be ready at any moment for whatever may come. She has left only once to drop her cat off with her neighbors and pack some clothing for the two of us. I’ve been stuck to the television like glue, watching every moment of the trial since we’re not allowed into the room other than to give our accounts of Katniss’ character. 

On the third day of the trial, I’m finally called in for my testimony, speaking only to a panel of 5 judges while a camera sends the live feed out to the rest of Panem. Plutarch has been casting himself as the star witness during the trial, advocating on Katniss’ behalf, but I know his sole purpose is for publicity for himself rather than exonerating the Mockingjay. If anyone is going to be able to convince the world of Katniss’ innocence, it’s going to be me. I’ve already been preparing what I would say for days, reciting it in front of Effie until I had it memorized, and I’m practically bursting at the seams by the time I’m allowed to talk.

“Katniss has done nothing but sacrifice herself for the good of others,” I tell the judges and Panem. I remind them of her volunteering at the reaping, I remind them of Rue in the Games, of her love for Peeta, of her taking on the mantle of the Mockingjay and stepping up as not only the symbol of peace and freedom in our country, but also a leader in the war who did what needed to be done to stop a tyrant. “There are things about President Coin that Panem doesn’t know. Terrible, dreadful things. Coin may have wanted peace for Panem, but she had no intention of allowing the people of the Capitol to be a part of that peace. She wanted to exterminate them like rats, but when she couldn’t get a unanimous support behind that decision, she decided the next best option would be another Hunger Games…this time involving the Capitol children. Katniss saw the malevolent potential in this woman, and knew that she could not sit by and let Coin take over our country. She was acting in the best interest of Panem, and all its people, just as she has always done.”

When I’m dismissed, I feel completely let down. I had expected them to rally behind my words, but their faces remain stoic, and I can’t even tell if any of them have been affected. Have their facial muscles been impaired to prevent this very thing? I feel like I’m in a daze as I walk out. Effie is there waiting for me and hugs me tightly.

“Oh, you were terrific, Haymitch!”

“Was I?” I ask, unconvinced. “They didn’t even blink.”

“They’re not supposed to,” she says, taking my arm and leading me off towards the dining room where another buffet has been set up. “They have to be impartial, remember?”

“They could at least show some sign of life.” I grumble.

The dining room is crowded when we arrive. Along with the panel of judges, each District—except for 12 and 13—have sent a candidate to run for the office of the President. When Plutarch hasn’t been martyring himself on Katniss’ behalf, he’s been busy splitting his time between filming the trial and filming propos for each candidate. The 11 candidates will have 5 minutes of air time to talk about their vision of Panem, their accomplishments in their Districts, and anything else they feel relevant to their campaign. The propos are set to begin airing first thing in the morning, when the trial breaks for its first deliberation, and each candidate will also be interviewed on air by Caesar Flickerman.

Effie and I get our plates and join the other Victors at the far end of one of several tables that have been moved into the room, making it even more impossibly cramped. As we’re seating ourselves, I catch the tail end of something Annie’s just said to Enobaria.

“You’re leaving?” I ask, looking at the dark-skinned woman.

Enobaria shrugs, “I’m not testifying for Katniss, the riots are under control, war’s over, Snow’s dead…what else am I supposed to do? I’ve done my job, Haymitch. I’m going home. I suggest the rest of you do the same before we become ornaments to whoever takes over as President. I ain’t playing lapdog to no one else.”

“I still have to give my spiel,” Johanna says, “but I’m leaving after that too. I just want to go home.”

I can tell they’re all tired, and I can’t blame them. It’s been a long, bloody battle to get to this point, but I don’t have a choice…I have to see this through. I have to make sure Katniss gets the choice to go home, I have to be there for Effie.... I have to. Maybe I feel it’s my penance for all the deaths I feel responsible for, or maybe it’s because part of me needs to be the man Effie thinks I am, but quitting now and walking away is the coward’s way out.

“I think I should probably tell you,” Peeta says, not looking at me as he speaks. “That I’m not going back to 12 when this is all over.”

Everyone looks at him and I can feel my mouth hanging open in shock. “What do you mean? What about Katniss?”

Peeta slams his fork down on the table, looking at me with pure loathing. “Why is it always about _Katniss_? I don’t _care_ about Katniss right now, Haymitch; I care about me. There’s something wrong with _me_ , or haven’t you even noticed?”

“Peeta!” Effie gasps.

“You don’t think I care about you?” I ask, truly hurt.

“If you did, you would have gotten me sponsors. You wouldn’t have told me to admit my feelings for Katniss on national television, you wouldn’t have left me in that damn arena and let them turn me into a…a… _freak_!”

“How _dare_ you!” Effie’s voice trills.

“It’s alright, Eff—“

“No, it’s not alright!” She cuts me off, looking crossly at Peeta. “If it hadn’t been for Haymitch, you would be dead right now. He convinced Seneca to change the rules so that you and Katniss could _both_ get out alive if you survived. And who do you think it was who convinced the other Tributes in the Quell to forge an alliance with you and Katniss? Hmm? It was Haymitch!”

Effie ends with an indignant huff, leaving Peeta looking thoroughly chastised, though he doesn’t apologize. Effie had known about my attempts at forging the allegiances behind Katniss and Peeta’s backs. She had been the one to convince me to give my bracelet to Finnick so that Katniss would know she could trust him. She had been in on most of the planning, though I had left her out of the loop on the rebellion.

Peeta breaks my thoughts. “Well, I’m still not going back to 12. Not for a while anyways.”

The conversation ends there, and I wonder if I should make Peeta break that news to Katniss, or just do it myself. It seems to be my job now to bear the burden of bad news, so…why not? Besides, she hates him enough right now, maybe she’ll be glad to hear he’s not coming back. I decide I’ll wait until after the trial, just in case Peeta changes his mind.

Effie and I spend the remainder of the day in our room at the mansion. For appearances sake, we still technically occupy two separate rooms, but one of us is always in the other’s room, and we’ve long since given up trying to sleep separately. We’ve tried it once in the last few days and neither of us slept for shit. Though we haven’t had sex in probably a week, it seems to be the furthest thing from either of our minds lately as we worry about the trial and the election, and every other goddamn thing we have no control over. Still, it’s nice to have someone next to me, and I’m glad that it’s Effie.

“Haymitch…”

Effie’s quiet voice nearly startles me out of my reverie. For the last few hours, we’ve been lying together silently in the bed—her head resting on my chest, our hands laced together. As I become consciously aware of her presence again, I feel myself absently stroking the back of her hand with my thumb. “Hm?”

“Do you plan to go back to District 12?” I can hear the sadness and apprehension in her voice, the unspoken fear that when I do leave the Capitol, she and I will never see each other again.

I take a deep breath, trying to seriously consider the question and not spit out one of my usual smarmy remarks. “I guess eventually I will. Twelve has been completely obliterated…I should be there to help try and rebuild it.”

“And then what will you do?”

For some reason her questions about the future make me feel on edge, and even more lost in the sea of uncertainty that all of Panem has been cast into. “Geez, honey, I don’t know. Until we even know what’s going to happen with the election and Katniss, I can’t even think about anything else, let alone plan the next 10 years of my life!”

She’s quiet for several beats before asking in a near inaudible voice, “What am I going to do, Haymitch?” She takes a shuddering breath before continuing, “If you leave, I’ll have no one.”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we get there, Eff. I promised you that I would stay until you said otherwise…but that doesn’t mean you have to be chained to the Capitol. You could come with me.”

“Back to District 12?”

I shrug in response. “Twelve or anywhere else we might feel useful.”

Effie sighs and sits up, moving a lock of her hair back with an impatient flip of her hand. “I just want all of this to be over. I want to be past the point of putting the country back together again and starting over.”

“Trust me, sweetheart, we all want the same thing.” I throw my legs over the side of the bed and reach my arms up in a stretch. I don’t really feel like going anywhere, but I need to move around and burn off some of the anxiety that has built back up in me as a result of our conversation. 

Effie rolls into the warmth of my vacated spot as I move to look out the window. “It’s hard to imagine what Panem will look like now. No more Hunger Games… I keep trying to envision the walls coming down between districts and the freedom for people to move around, but it just doesn’t seem like it would ever be possible.”

“I think if Coin was right about anything, she was right that we’re not ready for radical change country wide. There’s still so much hatred and resentment. It’s going to take years to overcome that, but there’s one thing we have now that we never had before.”

Effie looks at me curiously, waiting for me to fill her in, and for a moment I get lost in her beauty—with her head propped up in her hand, her natural hair spills down around her face, which is devoid of most of her usual makeup. She’s wearing one of my borrowed dress shirts, which falls just at her upper thigh and reveals her long, pale legs. When she realizes that I’m staring at her, her cheeks flush and she looks down demurely with a soft smile.

“Hope,” I finally manage to say. “We have hope.”

Effie shakes her head slightly. “I think we have more than just hope.”

This time I’m the one to give a curious look, and Effie extends her hand towards me. I step away from the window, taking her hand in mine and sitting on the edge of the bed next to her.

“We have each other.”

I don’t trust myself to say anything, for once actually trying not to ruin the moment, and instead I lean down to kiss her. It’s unfathomable just how natural it feels to kiss Effie now; how her lips always seem to be waiting for mine. She releases my hand and drags her fingers through my hair. I feel the slight pressure of her hand as it cups the back of my neck, and I know immediately what she wants.

Lowering myself, I don’t break the kiss as I stretch out over Effie. Her legs part and she brings her knees up on either side of me, one foot snaking up the back of my calf through my trousers. I slip a hand between our torsos, pulling the buttons of her shirt free one by one as she sucks on my tongue provocatively. The things she can do with her mouth never cease to amaze me, and I moan low and soft as she gently nips my bottom lip. Effie has been playful during sex each time we’ve been together, so I know by now that it’s part of her sexual nature, but tonight the playfulness has a softer edge to it. It stirs something in me that I can’t quite place, a longing for something that I can’t remember ever feeling.

To distract myself from the strange sensation, I gently break from the kiss and slip down her body to kiss and caress the soft mounds of her breasts. Her nipples have already peaked with desire, and I suck on the sensitive buds until she arches her back with a gasp to signal the overload of pleasure. Kissing my way down her stomach, I dip my tongue into her navel, before I slide her panties down her hips and thighs. We both have to shift a little to get them all the way off, and Effie is panting slightly by the time I’m settled between her legs. I know it isn’t from exertion, and I smirk, unable to stop myself from torturing her just a little.

I look up the length of her body until I meet her eyes. “Other than the Victory Tour, have you ever visited any of the other districts?”  
It takes her a minute to comprehend the words and I can see the confusion knit her eyebrows together. “Are you seriously asking about my prior travels right _now_?”

“Well, I’m just curious. After all, you started the conversation about where—“

Effie grabs my head and all but slams my face into her womanhood, and I can’t contain myself any longer. I’m laughing so hard that the bed shakes beneath us, but Effie is anything but amused. “Haymitch Abernathy, you are the _cruelest_ , most _heartless_ —“

I seize that opportunity to slide my tongue along her folds, cutting her off mid-insult and eliciting a long, low moan from her. The sound silences the rest of my laughter and I dive back into my original intent of bringing her pleasure. I deliberately take my time to lick and kiss and suck her labia, encouraged by her soft sighs and coos. Effie’s fingers float through my hair, massaging my scalp, and urging me on. When I part her with my fingers and dance over her clit with my tongue, I feel her shudder and gasp.

“Haymitch…”

I know that Effie has said my name during sex before, but there’s something about the way it comes out in a breathy sigh that makes me practically salivate. I push two fingers inside of her as I begin to suck on the little bud of her clit. Her body pushes down around my fingers as her hips shift up to present more of herself to me. She’s panting and sighing and griping my hair, and she’s so beautifully wet…

As much as I want her to cum in my mouth, there’s a large part of me that wants to fall into oblivion with her, so I slowly withdraw my fingers and push myself up onto my knees. Effie watches as I unbutton my own shirt before she sits up and reaches for the button on my trousers. I lean in to kiss her, and I’m pleasantly surprised when she licks around my mouth to taste herself on my skin. When we both finally manage to strip me of my clothing, there’s an urgency to be connected and Effie pulls me down on top of her, pawing at my back impatiently as I position myself at her entrance.

We groan in unison as I fill her without resistance, and she wraps a leg around my waist to draw me in deeper. I press my face against the side of her neck, drinking in the delicate scent of her soap and perfume. Her arms hold me tightly, roving over my shoulders and upper back. The need for urgency has dissipated, and now we both simply luxuriate in the closeness for several moments before basic instincts take over and I begin to move my hips.

Something in my gut—the part of me that can still think of anything beyond the pleasure—knows that tonight is more than just sex. This is gentle and tender, and I suddenly realize what those feelings were that I couldn’t put my finger on. Longing. Not for release, but for love. 

For a moment I feel like the air has been sucked out of my lungs. Had I not just told Effie less than a week ago that love wasn’t part of this package? I feel betrayed by my own traitorous heart, and nearly pack the whole thing in when Effie’s nails rake down my back and snap me out of the prison of my thoughts.

“Don’t stop; please? It feels so good.”

Trailing my hands down her arms, I pull them from around me and pin her wrists to the bed, eager to move beyond the dangerous territory of love making and move back into good, old fashioned fucking. Effie’s eyes darkened with lust and her lips curl into a mischievous smirk, and I know that I’ve awakened that part of her that loves wild, rough sex.

“Is this how you want me?” She breathes, writhing wantonly beneath me and spreading her legs further on either side of me as she begins to move her hips. “You just want to hold me down and fuck me like a whore? Do you want me to be your whore, Haymitch?”

I’m torn between being turned on and repelled that she would ever call herself a whore, but tighten my hold on her wrists a little more as I roughly thrust deep inside of her, making her gasp in pleasure. “Shut your mouth, sweetheart.” 

Effie bites her lip, still smirking, and purposefully clenches her inner walls around my cock, making me grunt. I watch her close her eyes as she against starts to move against me slowly, moaning softly and slipping her tongue out to wet her lips. “Mmmm…Haymitch…you make me so wet. The way you feel inside of me…so massive…so powerful.”

I know she’s toying with me, but it’s still having an effect on me, and I can’t fight the urge to just simply take her. Letting go of her wrists, I grab her hips and drive into her repeatedly, gaining speed until our bodies are slapping together and Effie has to drive her heels into the mattress for purchase. 

Her nails dig into my forearms as she lets out a strangled cry of pleasure; her walls seizing around me and start to spasm from the intensity of her orgasm. I feel the rush of warm fluid as she comes, and it’s too much to resist. I growl her name as I pump into her a few more times before my cock releases the product of my own ecstasy. 

I’m on cloud nine for what feels like both forever and only a handful of seconds before the fog of bliss begins to lift and I realize I’ve collapsed on top of Effie. She’s breathing hard beneath me, lazily stroking up and down my back as she waits for me to come down from my high. I press a kiss to her collarbone before I weakly pull out of her and roll off to the side.

Effie molds herself to my side, humming in contentment as she plays with the hair on my chest. “If someone told me a year ago that you were such a delightful lover, I would have laughed in their face.”

I try not to cringe at her use of the word ‘lover’ and instead focus on the meaning behind the statement. “What? You doubted my sexual prowess? Wasn’t it you who had a raging crush on me?”

She slaps my chest in protest, “Hardly raging. It wasn’t as if you made me weak in the knees every time I saw you. Of course, I can’t think of any woman who would swoon at the sight of an unwashed, crass drunkard. How you landed anyone in that state is beyond me.”

“Gee, thanks, sweetheart. You sure know how to make a guy feel special.” I’m not actually offended and she knows it, choosing to grab my chin and turn my head towards her for a kiss rather than offer an apology. We both sigh in unison and she laughs softly as she curls a little closer into me. I sweep my fingers over her forehead and kiss her gently one last time before I reach over and shut off the lamp on the bedside table. “Goodnight, Effie.”

“Mmm…goodnight Haymitch.”

When I wake up the next morning, I find that Effie has already risen and isn’t in the room at all. The clock next to the bed tells me it’s just after 9am, so I drag myself out of bed and into the shower before I get ready and head out to see what lies in store for Panem today. I can hear the tinkling of silverware and plates coming from the dining room and find a handful of people eating breakfast with stoic looks on their faces. No one is chatting this morning, and I get the distinct impression that I’ve already missed something major.

“Why does everyone look so grim? I thought the—“

“They’ve already made a decision about Katniss,” Johanna cuts me off. “They’re waiting to meet with you before they make the official announcement.”

“Me? What have I got to do with any of it?” I have a sinking feeling I already know the answer to that, but the others in the room simply look at me without response. I suddenly lose my appetite and scrap the food I’ve started to collect on my plate back into the warming pans. 

Even though I’m not sure where the panel of judges might be, or where Effie has wondered off to, my feet seem to have developed some instinct and move me in the direction of the conference room. Sure enough, the judges, Paylor, Plutarch, Aven, and Effie are all seated at the table. Even with her usual makeup in place, Effie looks pale and sick, and she doesn’t meet my eyes.

“Haymitch,” Paylor offers a kind smile before gesturing for me to join them.

“What’s the judgment on Katniss?” I ask without preamble, wanting to skip the bullshit.

The others exchange a look, except for Effie, who looks down at her hands.

“We’ve decided to release her with a few conditions.” One of the judges speaks for the group.

I try to keep my expression neutral as I wait for him to name the conditions.

“She must remain under the care of the doctors to monitor her mental status, and she must return to District 12 until a time when we feel she does not pose a danger to society.”

I can’t help but snort in laughter. “A danger to society? Seriously? So you’re going to play the angle that she’s lost her mind?”

“The country is in a delicate state right now, Haymitch,” Paylor says diplomatically. “If she’s able to walk free without consequence for her actions, what message are we sending?”

“How about the message that what Katniss did was for the good of the country?”

“No one in this room is questioning that,” Plutarch pipes up. “But let’s say someone else feels that the next president is a tyrant and makes an attempt on his or her life…we simply can’t afford that kind of chaos. Surely you see that?”

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. I understand what they are saying, but to punish Katniss just for the sake of maintaining order, after all we’ve asked of her just doesn’t sit right with me. “Fine…so why exactly do you need me here in order to publicly declare your decision?”

There’s a long silence and I look up to see that, once again, no one wants to be the one to speak. Effie looks like she’s about to shatter, and I know that my instinct was right. “I’m the third condition…you need someone to babysit her back in 12.”

“You are her mentor, Haymitch.” Plutarch says, as if that justifies exiling both of us. “You’re the only one that Katniss will listen to; the only one we can trust to keep an eye on her.”

I give a humorless laugh. “So, I guess that means that until you give Katniss the freedom to leave 12, I’m stuck there too.”

“The alternative is to lock her up here in the Capitol.” Paylor tells me matter-of-factly. “It’s your choice, of course, but those are the options.”

“How convenient.” I shake my head, too flabbergasted to feel the full force of my outrage yet. “So you solve the problem of two loose cannons by shipping them back to their district; which, if I can remind you all, was wiped off the map in the airstrikes.”

“The Victor’s Village was untouched.” Plutarch says, as if I don’t already know that.

“Whoopty-fucking-do, I guess that solves all the problems.” I push out of my chair, needing to get out of that room before I rip them all to shreds, but Paylor stops me as I reach the door.

“Yes or no, Haymitch?”

“Fuck all of you.” I answer before I walk out.

I’m practically seething as I stalk down the hallway, needing to find somewhere where I can be alone before I completely lose it. Sending me back is really only a mild annoyance, but I’m outraged for Katniss. After everything she’s done, after everything she’s had to lose, this is the thanks she gets? If this is the new justice system, then I’ll take over District 12 and annex it from Panem. It’s wrong, and once again I’m helpless to change it. 

_Oh, how far we’ve come._ I think sarcastically as I jam my finger into the elevator button that leads up to the presidential balcony. The doors open and I step inside, letting the lift carry me up and put me out into the fresh air. I take several deep breaths as I move towards the banister, pressing my hands against the cool stone and closing my eyes until I stop seeing red. 

I hear the click of heels approaching from behind and know that it’ll be Effie. For the first time, I think of her place in this decision, knowing that I can’t fulfill my promise to stay with her now. In my mind I see the shattered look on her face in the conference room, and feel my anger start to bleed out inside of me. This decision didn’t just affect myself and Katniss, it affected Effie too. 

Her hand touches between my shoulder blades and I turn to face her just as she loses her composure and the tears begin to fall. I take her into my arms, holding her tight and shushing her softly before she starts to sob. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart.”

“Please don’t go, Haymitch,” even though she says the words, we both know that I really don’t have a choice.

“I don’t like this any more than you do, Eff, but I can’t let them lock Katniss up. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“No, of course not. I’m just being completely selfish. I’m not ready to lose you yet.”

“Hey…” I gently push her back until I can look her eyes, wiping a tear that rolls down her cheek. “You’re not losing me. I’m just going back to 12 a little sooner than we thought. You could still come with me. Katniss would probably like having someone other than me to look at.”

She laughs, despite the sadness she feels, but shakes her head. “I can’t. Paylor’s asked me to stay on as an official assistant until the election happens and the new president can take over.”

I try to smile, even though my heart isn’t in it. “Well, see, and you were afraid there’d be nothing for you in all of this.”

Effie looks down at her feet and I can see there’s more that I don’t know about. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Effie struggles to speak for a moment, fresh tears making tracks through her white powder. “Once they make the announcement about Katniss…” I watch her clutch her throat as if speaking is causing her pain. “They’ll expect you both to be gone within an hour.”

I blink slowly, trying to let that revelation soak in. “When are they making the announcement?”

Her face is twisted in despair. “You should probably go and pack, and get Katniss ready.”

Effie pulls away from me completely, and hurries away, but not before I hear the sobs begin. I stand there in shock for several moments, almost feeling like Katniss and I have been given a death sentence. Though she didn’t give me a specific time that I should be expecting to be shipped out, I know that it’ll be sometime today. Taking a deep breath, I shoulder my emotions and head back to lift before making my way to the dining room to say my goodbyes to whoever happens to be there. 

No one seems surprised when I tell them the news, which makes me feel like I’m the last person alive to know what’s going on. I doubt that Katniss knows yet, but that’s hardly a consolation considering we’re in this together now. As I head up to my room to pack up, Aven stops me on the stairs and pushes an envelope into my hands before squeezing me in a motherly embrace.

“Give this to her, will you? I can’t…I just can’t.” Aven tells me she has no intention to return to 12, and that she’ll be leaving on a transport to help some other districts begin to rebuild their medical facilities. While I know it will be good for her, I feel outrage once again for Katniss. All I can do, though, is promise to deliver the letter.

I had expected Effie to be in our room—if for no other reason than to spend a little more time with me before I left, but the room is empty when I open the door and I’m surprised to find myself a little saddened by that. I leave the clothes that were lent to me, deciding to take only the ones I’m wearing, and instead toss my toiletries in a duffel bag that was given to me back in district 13. It still has a few grey jumpsuits that I’ll take pleasure in burning when it gets cold enough to light a fire. I see the slightly rumpled dress shirt that Effie had been wearing the previous night and, on a whim, cram it into the bag. 

I hear a light knock on the open door and turn to see Effie. I can tell she’s removed a layer of makeup because her face is less powder-white and her eyeliner has been blotted into a barely visible line. She’s twisting her fingers nervously, staring at the bag sitting on the bed. “They’ve just made the announcement,” she tells me, seeing that television set is off. “You should be the one to tell Katniss, Haymitch.”

I can’t help but sigh in annoyance. “If sharing bad news was a career choice, I would have certainly found my niche.”

I can see the sympathy in her eyes, but what surprises me are the next words out of her mouth. “How are you doing with all of this?”

In all the years I’ve known Effie Trinket, I can’t remember when she’s ever once asked me how I’m doing. As the queen of manners and etiquette, you’d think that would come with the territory, but Effie’s never been a particularly empathetic person. At least not that I’ve witnessed. Capitol breeding tends to make people forget the world doesn’t revolve around them, so I’m taken aback for a moment by the uncharacteristic question.

“I’m…” I want to tell her that I’m fine, but I’m not. I’m pissed. I feel so entirely let down and jaded by everything. I didn’t sacrifice as much as Katniss did during this war, but even I deserve more than to be shunned. Not so much as a thank you from one person. That’s gratitude for you… “I’ll survive.” I finally say. After all, isn’t that we Victors do? Survive? 

Effie finally moves forward, her arms stretching out towards me, and I open mine to her in return. She’s holding me so tight that I wonder if she ever plans to let go, and find myself hoping she doesn’t. 

“How about you, sweetheart? How are you doing with all of this?”

“I’m devastated.” She doesn’t even have to think about the words, and I hear her voice quaver as another round of tears threaten to break free. “I really am losing everything now.”

“You’re not losing me, Effie. The only thing coming between us is a little bit of distance.”

“Distance or not, it won’t be the same. I’m worried that when you get back there…”

I can hear the words she can’t say. She’s worried I’m going to fall back into the bottle. I want to promise her that I won’t touch a drop, but I can’t because, honestly…that’s all I’m looking forward to when we get back. It’s the only way I’m going to be able to cope with all this shit. I pull back a little from the embrace to kiss her instead. I wonder if it’ll be the last kiss we share. When I feel Effie’s tears fall, I know that she’s wondering the same thing.

“I need to say something, Haymitch, even if you don’t want to hear it or don’t feel the same…” She’s searching my eyes apprehensively, and I know what she’s going to say. She’s right, I don’t want to hear it, but not for the reason she thinks. Hearing those words is only going to make it harder for me to leave.

I place my finger over her lips to keep her from saying the words. “You don’t need to say it, honey…I know.” I can tell she’s waiting for more, waiting for some sign that the feeling is reciprocated, but I can’t give it to her, even if I do feel the same way. I know if I stay here with her another minute, I’ll cave, so I grab the duffle from the bed, holding it with both hands just to keep myself from holding onto her like a lifeline. “See you around, sweetheart.”

I don’t stop when I step around Effie and leave the room. I can hear her fall to pieces behind me, and it breaks my heart, but I can’t go back. This is the way it has to be. At least for now.

I find Katniss in her room, listless in the middle of the bed. She sits up when she sees me, and I can see the eagerness on her face for news. “Come on, sweetheart, we’re going home.”

“They’re letting me go?”

“In a manner of speaking. They think sending you back to 12 is the best option right now until things get on track around here.”

“Who else is going back?”

I know she’s wondering about Peeta, her mother, and Gale, and I really hate having to break the news to her. “Just you and me.”

Katniss and I walk in silence to where the hovercraft is waiting for us, and I’m surprised to see Plutarch waiting there as well. “Et tu, Brute?” 

He gives me a smug little smile as we all board the craft. “I’m to meet Beetee in District 3 to start airing the propos for the election. You will remember to cast your vote, won’t you, Haymitch?”

It takes all of my will not to punch him in his fat face, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’s ruffled me, no matter how good it might feel to break his nose. 

I wait until after we’ve dropped Plutarch in District 3 before I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out the letter for Katniss. “Your mother wanted me to give this to you.”

Katniss gives a sad little laugh as she takes the letter and shoves it into her bag. “I guess it really is just you and me back in 12.” She pauses for a moment, then looks at me. “Why are you coming back to 12, Haymitch?”

“I guess they couldn’t figure out to do with me either. I caused them enough grief the last couple of weeks, I guess they were tired of dealing with me.”

“So they’re forcing you to come back to keep an eye on me.” No one ever said Katniss was stupid. Well, except probably me. I nod in response. 

When neither of us say anything further, I get up and start to raid the supplies on the hovercraft, stuffing my findings—mostly little bottles of alcohol—into my duffel. Katniss sleeps the rest of the way home, but I can’t seem to shut my mind off long enough to close my eyes for more than a minute. I don’t want to admit, even to myself, how much I already miss Effie. Thinking about her is going to be a slippery slope, especially since I have no idea when…or if…I’ll ever see her again. I can’t help but laugh softly at the idea that for years I couldn’t wait to get rid of Effie—dreading every Hunger Games for the simple fact that I would have to interact with her—and yet, here I am now…missing the damn woman. Oh, the irony… 

It’s dark when we land, and Katniss and I stand at the gates of the Victor’s Village looking up at the row of dark houses with a mixture of dread and exhaustion. It’s so quiet in the district that it’s deafening. This place is, quite literally, a ghost town and it makes my stomach churn. “I need a drink.”

Katniss looks at me, unsurprised, but disappointed. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

I nod, but somehow doubt that. We walk up the overgrown path to our separate houses, and I leave the lights off as I head inside straight towards the kitchen. I pull a butcher knife from the block on the counter and stab it into the wood of the table, out of habit more than anything. My hunting knife was confiscated in District 13 and I’d never gotten it back during the war, so I’ll just have to make do with the kitchen set.

Digging into my bag, I methodically pull out bottle by bottle, setting them on the table in a row. I’ve never exactly planned my drinking, but somehow I’m going to have to make this stash last until I can find another source. As I portion out what I plan to drink tonight, I can’t help but think of Effie. My heart pangs with regret, but rather than turn me away from the drink, it only strengthens my resolve to get drunk just so I don’t have to feel anything.

I twist off the cap on the first bottle and lick my lips in anticipation. “Sorry, sweetheart,” I murmur for Effie before I tip the bottle back and drain the contents. After the second one is down, I feel my head swim a little, and a smirk curls my lips. I guess one good thing about my stint with sobriety is that my tolerance level has receded a bit. It won’t take as much as I anticipated to drink myself into a stupor. 

Plucking the knife back out of the surface of the table, I take the 3rd bottle into the living room and fall into the worn cushions of the couch. I set the knife on the end table next to me and kick off my shoes before opening the bottle and drinking it slowly. The alcohol helps enhance my exhaustion, and my eyes start to feel heavy by the time I’m only halfway finished.

My last conscious thought is that maybe tonight I’ll be too tired to dream.

\--

TBC


End file.
